


Ritual

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drama, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-20
Updated: 2006-06-19
Packaged: 2018-09-03 04:46:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8697088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Wincest, strong language, more lube, the same big dog, more Mexican food, more bones, blood and cherry-popping, spooky critters, a wicked powerful aphrodisiac and a freaky ceremony. This is the last section of my series and picks up right after the story entitled "Blood Brother."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

Title: Ritual (Part One of Four)  
Author: Hellskitten  
Email: crissyd33@yahoo.com   
Fandom: Supernatural   
Pairing: Sam/Dean  
Rating: NC-17   
Warnings: Wincest, strong language, more lube, the same big dog, more Mexican food, more bones, blood and cherry-popping, spooky critters, a wicked powerful aphrodisiac and a freaky ceremony.   
Spoilers: Some but this is mostly AU. This is the last section of my series and picks up right after the story entitled “Blood Brother”. All can be found at my LJ in Memories in reading order.   
Disclaimer: The boys and all their angst-ridden hotness belong to the Eric Kripke and the CW. “Caleb” is an Original Character in this series and has no resemblance to the character of the same name briefly presented in the episode "Salvation".   
Dedication: This story contains massive amounts of inspiration and also gracious contribution from the wonderful Drvsilla. She created Caleb with me and he’s become his own being, bless ‘im. In this story, she collaborated with me on several more subtle levels, as well (not the least of which is Caleb’s ass-kickin’ tattoo). All reference to Sam’s thumb sucking kink are meant as homage to her brutally sexy original idea. Oh, and there’s this little scene in a truck that we wrote together one night in a Yahoo box. You’ll know it when you see it. Thanks and endless adoration, my dear Dru. One day, I might be worthy. As Papa Bear would say, ‘I’m workin’ on it.’   
Soundtrack: “Mercy Street” – by Peter Gabriel.   
  
***  
  
Caleb crouched before his new fire, poking the kindling with a long stick. The flames licked and curled, tried to puff out in the skittish night breeze, but he kept nudging the twigs and crumpled paper around them, enticing the fire to burn the fuel. He’d decided to camp at the site where he would conduct the ritual the next day, just to make sure no witnesses were around or within earshot. Caleb expected things to get a little graphic and the last thing they’d need was spectators.  
  
The flames finally caught and started devouring the twigs and paper. He reached for two narrow logs on the ground beside him and arranged them carefully in a cross atop the small, energetic blaze. Butch sat on the other side of the fire pit, fluffy white tail curled around his feet for warmth. He watched the flames as though mesmerized by them then his keen gaze moved to his human companion.  
  
Caleb tilted a grin at his dog, but had nothing to say. Instead he poked the fire once more, satisfied that it was going strong, then he stood up and went back to the Hummer for his phone. His thermal sleeping bag was unfolded and ready in the truck’s rear cabin, outfitted with the creature comfort of two down pillows. He had other things in his vehicle to enhance comfort as well, but the majority of those were illegal in most countries.  
  
Inside his weathered duffle, amid his recently laundered clothing and several road-weary leather bound journals, there was a satellite phone programmed with five speed dial numbers. All of those numbers belonged to John Winchester, except one that belonged to John's son, Dean. Caleb didn’t have Missouri Moseley’s number but he figured she’d find him if she needed to. Psychics were reliable that way.  
  
Caleb sat on the lowered tailgate and punched in the code that would get him to John. While the phone did its thing to connect them across the country, he looked up into the clear night sky and noted the location of a few key constellations. It was so dark out there in the woods that he could see the white haze of the Milky Way. Cassiopeia glowed and he smiled at her. He’d always had a thing for the energy of that big off center W.  
  
The phone clicked twice, there was a long whirring ring and then there was John.  
  
“I was just about to call you,” he said. His voice sounded strained and slightly frantic, but those things were so well-masked that no one but Caleb would have heard them. Well, maybe the Pastor.  
  
“What’s up, Johnny?”  
  
“Just had a visit from our buddy,” John Winchester said. In the background, Caleb could hear the familiar rattle of rock salt in a metal container.   
  
“And?”  
  
The rattling continued for a moment and he could picture his friend emptying a thick line of the salt onto the carpet in front of his motel room door.  
  
“We had an interesting conversation,” John said.  
  
“That so? Talking takes a fuck of a lot of energy.”  
  
“Yeah. It lasted about eight seconds before it burnt out.”  
  
Caleb filed that detail for future reference. “Hm. And what did the scrawny little bitch have to say? Probably something derogatory about my dog, right?”  
  
Normally that would have raised at least a chuckle out of John, but not that night. Instead, he replied immediately in that same subtly strained voice.  
  
“That thing called my sons sodomites,” he said. “It knows about that.”  
  
Caleb’s teeth connected in his mouth. “You say that like you're thinking **I** know about it, which I don't, right? I mean, how could I know about that if you've never told me? Right?"  
  
John Winchester sighed on the other end of the line. Caleb thought he heard the soft whine of old bed springs protesting under sudden weight.   
  
“Look, I’m sorry,” he said, the words carried on a long exhaled breath. That sensual characteristic of voice was one of the things Caleb loved most about John although he'd never mention it. John would raz him to death. “It’s just . . . I’m their father, for fuck’s sake—and you are my best friend. I know how you feel about my boys. I guess I was hoping if I didn’t tell you, it wouldn’t have to exist for you. You wouldn’t have to see it every time you looked at them AND every time you looked at me.”  
  
“Uh huh." Caleb was getting annoyed with the Winchester penchant for misplaced angst. "Because of course, it's all your fault. The only reason Dean and Sammy went down that road is because of your crushing failure as a father." He paused and the line crackled between them. "Right?"  
  
"Dude," John began but Caleb talked over him.  
  
"Johnny, I've known your children all their lives. They were great kids and they grew into excellent men. That's the only damage you did them, man. Anything else—was just their path."  
  
More silence and the hollow echo of distance then Caleb went on.  
  
"If you were trying to spare me the shock and horror of this little truth, well I'm here to tell ya-- I’m neither shocked nor horrified. In fact, I’m not even the least bit _surprised_.” He breathed a chuckle. “Hell, if Dean-o was my brother, I’d have found some way to rub up on him, too. Kid’s fuckin’ gorgeous.”  
  
Finally, John did laugh, but very softly. “That’s funny,” he said, his tense tone smoothing into one more playful and affectionate. “I always thought it was my inquisitive, fearless little Sammy that tickled _your_ fancy, old dog."  
  
A bright jangle of guilt rang through Caleb's chest and he looked up at the stars again, his pale eyes tracing the sprawl of the Big Dipper. His fingertips came to his bottom lip, still feeling the tingling ghost of young Samuel Winchester’s gentle, hungry kiss. “Yeah, well . . . I guess Sammy and I do have a little somethin’ extra. Kindred souls, or whatever.”  
  
“Or whatever,” John said, his tone still playful but inching toward wary. “Caleb, Sammy didn't throw himself at you, did he? He's always had a hefty crush. Did he take advantage of me not being there to chaperone?”  
  
Caleb chuckled but only because he needed a moment to decide if he was going to confess. Of course he would eventually, but he wasn't sure now was the right time.   
  
Then again.  
  
Sighing, he said, "Don't worry, Papa Bear. No one’s honor was compromised. Except maybe mine, a bit. I just . . . we'd had a few drinks and I let my guard down. Things got a little touchy, is all.”  
  
John was quiet for way too many seconds and Caleb started to get anxious. He waited, bit his lip right where Sammy had nursed on it then drew it into his mouth protectively. Finally, John spoke.  
  
"You couldn’t say no?" His voice was deep, sleep-husky.   
  
Caleb swallowed because his throat had gone very dry. “I _did_ say no, Johnny." He let out a long breath. “Just . . . not right away.”  
  
"Meaning?"  
  
"Meaning . . . I'm only human. And your son tastes like a ripe peach."  
  
"Does he?" John said and the slight edge in his tone vanished into humor again. "So, was there kissing involved or were you just suddenly compelled to lick him?"  
  
"You have no idea," Caleb muttered. "Yeah, I wanted to lick him but I wasn't gonna until he caught me in a lip lock. And just for a minute I went with it."  
  
He could hear his friend breathing a laugh on the other end of the line and suddenly John sounded so close, Caleb could almost smell him. John Winchester had a warm, distinctive scent that reminded Caleb of apple cobbler and cayenne pepper.  
  
"That's it?" John asked.  
  
Caleb's response was a too long delay that said he would confess, but only if John asked him to. Of course, John did.  
  
"What else?"  
  
He swung his feet over the edge of the tailgate and the toes of his tan boots scraped the stony ground. "He . . . wanted to . . ."  
  
"Just tell me, man. As long as you didn't strip him and bend him over the hood of your truck, we're okay. Sammy's an adult. He makes his own decisions. In fact, he's annoyingly prone to do so."  
  
Caleb huffed. "Yeah. Well, he decided on doing something that reminded him of his daddy. He got on with some serious whisker nuzzling, man. Just like he did with you when he was little. And I know it sucks, Johnny, but I dug it. Way too much. I promise you it only lasted a few seconds before I put the kibosh on it, though."  
  
The line was so quiet that Caleb thought their connection had been lost. And then John Winchester began to chuckle.   
  
"My Sammy whiskered you?" he said.  
  
"Yuh." Although he could hear his friend laughing, Caleb wasn't quite convinced it was a good thing. After all, Sammy was John's baby son, no matter how old he might be. Caleb waited, feet swinging over the tailgate, trying to determine if he was in trouble or not.  
  
John was still laughing. "I can't believe he did that," he said. "He had to know you'd tell me."  
  
Caleb cleared his throat then softly said, "it wasn't a given that I would. Almost didn't. Feelin' damned guilty about it, John."  
  
"Ah," John said dismissively. "No need. It's not like I had any better luck saying no to him when he was a kid—and Sammy's my _son_. Can't hardly blame you for doing the same thing now that he's all grown up. And, I might add, devastatingly handsome like his old man." He laughed. "Besides, don't you remember how horny you were at twenty-two?"   
  
Caleb slid off the tailgate, grinning with relief and with a few sweet memories. "Ah, yes," he said. "I remember. No quarter offered or asked."   
  
"Exactly," John said. "Look, I think I'm jealous because it's been so long since Sammy wanted to do that to me, but I'm not worried about him enjoying a little whisker porn with you, man. Not with everything else going on. Besides, you do have a damned sexy beard."  
  
Caleb grinned, let John hear him chuckled. "Sammy misses his daddy, man. That's all it was. He might not even know why he wanted that particular flavor of affection from me, but I do. When you see him next, throw your kid down for a long overdue snuggle. You both need it to get reacquainted. Sammy was gone almost five years."  
  
"I know," John whispered. "If he'll hold still for it, I'd love to get reacquainted like that. Just not sure he'll let me."  
  
"He will," Caleb said. "Trust me. I'm willing to bet he'll melt like butter if you so much as offer daddy cuddles."  
  
John spoke in a wan rasp. "I just assumed Dean was taking care of Sammy's multiple and various needs for affection."  
  
"I'm sure he's doing his part," Caleb snarked. "But he's big brother, not big daddy. The hugs feel different and provide a different kind of comfort."  
  
"All right," John said. "When this is all over, I'll see if Sammy's interested. Are you all set for tomorrow?"  
  
Caleb tucked the phone between his shoulder and ear then rummaged through his things until he found the little bundle of raw hide that contained his supplies for the ritual. He opened it on the tailgate and searched through it one item at a time.  
  
"Almost," he said. "But I'm missing something I thought I had."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Mary's wedding ring. Didn't you give it to me? It's not in the pouch."  
  
"Sammy has it," John said softly. "I gave it to him a few weeks ago. Ya know, for protection."   
  
Caleb paused suddenly reminded in a wave of everything his friend had been through—would go through—before this crusade was complete. "Okay. Then I'll make sure he brings it tomorrow. I'll take good care of it."  
  
"I know you will."  
  
He walked slowly back to his now blazing fire, kneeling beside the crackling flames. He met Butch's glimmering, watchful gaze and gave the dog a wink. “I'm gonna start the ritual when the moon rises tomorrow," Caleb said. "I'll feed the boys then drive 'em out here to my campsite. The whole thing should be over in about an hour. I'll give you a call before we start and after we're done, of course."  
  
"What should I be expecting on this end?" John asked.  
  
Taking a deep breath, Caleb said, "I don't really know for sure. I'm assuming the guardian will be concentrating on the boys—on trying to suck up that yummy energy it wants from them. But it might make a move on you if it gets a chance. The boys would have to be thinking of you really hard in order for it to sense you. I'll make sure to tell them not to focus on you until I've got the veil up."  
  
"It rides our thoughts, doesn't it?" John said. "I figured as much."  
  
"That's my guess, judging by its recent appearances. It's got some sort of pipeline between the Winchester Three that it just trucks on down when it wants to find you. It's probably a blood thing. Who knows with these sons o' bitches."  
  
"Did the boys say they spoke to Missouri?" John asked.  
  
"Yeah, they did." Caleb poked the fire again, frowning slightly. "She said something about them gaining an advantage if they . . ." Again he hesitated, glanced at Butch for assurance but the dog was no help. All he offered was more panting.   
  
John sighed on the other end of the line. "I know," he said. "She told me. She said they'd gain telepathy if they . . ." John breathed a weary laugh. "The word she used with me was ‘consummated’, but we know what she meant. Apparently, if my sons cornhole each other they're rewarded with mental telepathy."  
  
"Yuh," Caleb replied. "Yours is a dark corner of Oz, Johnny. But that's what you got."  
  
"Yeah, I know. Anyway," John sighed. "Missouri made it sound like they had to do it tonight. Like they'd need the telepathy for something. Can you think of what?"  
  
The wind shifted and blew the fire's smoke into Caleb's eyes for a moment. He squinted, his eyes watered and then he looked up at the stars again. The inky sky swam and sparkled with wet ribbons of white light until he blinked and cleared his vision. "I have no idea why they'd need that for our purposes. They're not gonna need to keep any secrets from me or my guide. I don't know, Johnny. But if the nice psychic lady says they need it, I believe her."  
  
"I guess we'll just have to wait and see," John said. "Something I absolutely fucking loathe doing."  
  
Caleb laughed. "Yes, you do."  
  
"Are we absolutely certain it will come for them tomorrow night?"  
  
Butch shifted on the opposite side of the fire pit, stretching out on the cool ground and lying down. His gaze flitted from the flames to Caleb's eyes and back again, and then he sighed a deep dog sigh.  
  
"Well," Caleb said. "I'm gonna make them irresistible to it."  
  
"How's that?"  
  
He reached for that long stick again and poked the fire. "I've got a little potion that will help relax them. Let down their inhibitions and just, ya know, go with the flow. The more energy they generate, the more the guardian's belly will growl. Truth is . . ." he paused and glanced at Butch. The big dog lowered his muzzle into his paws as though he were frowning in disapproval.  
  
"What?" John said.  
  
"It would be best if they were . . . touching each other, John. That's the juice the guardian wants. If they ramped it up during the ritual, that little shit would be mesmerized and that would make it my bitch."  
  
John Winchester was quiet for a long stretch of minutes, then he sighed and said, "do what you gotta do, Caleb. Just take care of my children."  
  
Caleb nodded even though John couldn't see him doing so. "You know I will. I love them, too, remember?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"All right, then." Caleb looked at Butch again and the big dog lifted his head with interest. "I'm gonna get some rest. Aren't you seeing the brujo tomorrow?"  
  
"I have an appointment at 10:30," John said.  
  
"Well, tell him Butch and I send our regards," Caleb said.   
  
"Will do. I'll talk to you tomorrow night."  
  
"Good night, Johnny." Caleb waited for John to say good night then he disconnected their call. He set the phone on the ground beside him then rolled back on his heels until his butt touched the earth. He wrapped his arms around his raised knees and looked across at his canine companion. Butch's ears twitched when Caleb regarded him and he uttered a quiet 'woo'.  
  
"Yuh," Caleb replied. "It's gonna be a freak show around here tomorrow night, my friend."  
  
Butch swished his tail back and forth in the dirt indicating he was cool with a freak show. In fact, it might even be fun.  
  
  
***  
  
  
When Dean came out of the bathroom he found Sam reclined on the bed, long legs under the sheet, muscular chest bare, hands in his lap and a tiny grin playing on his dark pink lips. He was staring down at the floor apparently lost in thought. Still naked, Dean swaggered across the room and stood next to the bed—just showing off for the hell of it because he knew Sam loved to look at him. Strangely, it took his little brother a few seconds to notice him and Dean didn’t care for that one bit.  
  
“What’re you thinkin’ about, Sammy?” he said, bending his knee and leaning on the bed with it. He reached for his heavy cock and stroked it, lifted it, offering it to his brother like a gift. “After what I just let you do to me, you'd better be thinkin’ about me, dude.”  
  
Sam’s eyes glinted and he grinned, leaning forward on the bed until his chin connected with Dean’s belly. He looked up almost coyly and Dean brushed the head of his cock against Sam’s Adam’s apple.   
  
“Who else would be on my mind right now, Dean?” His fingers slid up Dean’s thighs, ruffling the golden hairs against their grain. It tickled and Dean smiled when his nipples tightened. He even felt his anus quiver from Sam’s slight touch, still tender from the loss of the last of his virginity.   
  
“Well, I don’t know,” Dean teased. “You and that old man were hittin’ it off pretty good out there. From what I could see.”  
  
Sam’s grin turned Cheshire. “I cannot _believe_ you were spying on me.” He rolled his eyes. “You girl.”  
  
Dean shook his head and smiled, making sure his brother didn’t register the tightness creeping into his belly. “Dude, I was lookin' out for you. Caleb’s a little twitchy, you gotta admit. And we'd all had a lot of tequila.”  
  
Sam’s fingers moved in the opposite direction, stroking Dean’s leg hairs so lightly. He kissed his brother’s tummy above the navel, then kissed the dark sucking wound he’d made below. The tip of his nose skittered over the honey-gold hairs there and Sam sighed with the shivery pleasure only fetishes bring.   
  
“I don’t know what it is about him,” he said softly, hot breath against Dean’s skin. “I’ve just always . . . ya know . . . had a thing.”  
  
Dean’s jaw clenched and relaxed but he made sure Sam didn’t see that. He kept distracting him by brushing his cock against his brother’s neck and jaw bone, tapping it gently until he was hard enough to leak.   
  
“If you want him, I can’t stop you,” Dean said in a husky whisper. But he hated the words as they came out.   
  
Sam’s fingers tracked back up Dean’s thighs, stroked the front, tickled the back, caressed a little harder on the flesh inside, just below his balls. His attention had been captured by Dean’s erection and suddenly their conversation just went away. Sam’s eyes focused on the single clear drop of fluid clinging to the slit of Dean’s cock head and his tongue was out the next second, reaching for the moisture like the thirsty child he was.   
  
Dean’s fingers found Sam’s curls and he gathered them in a bunch in his hand, just enough to get a good grip on his brother’s head. Sam didn’t notice this right away. His attention was otherwise engaged.  
  
His tongue swept in a wet circle around the tip of Dean’s cock, gathering the pre-come and greedily swallowing it, going back for the next drop that was already welling up as more blood pumped through Dean’s loins. He was plenty hard now, ready to rock. And his fingers tightened in those satiny curls.  
  
Sam sighed, his eyes slid closed and his mouth opened, covering and surrounding Dean’s cock, sucking it in, down, up, down, tasting it with his tongue and wetting it with his flowing saliva. Dean moaned, tingled everywhere, then he swallowed and took a breath to speak.  
  
“You have to tell me, Sammy,” he said, voice low and grainy. “If you want him . . . you have to tell me. Otherwise . . . I don’t wanna hear about your fuckin' crush anymore.”  
  
Sam’s eyes opened but his mouth never released its prize. His gaze was direct and sharp, pupils huge with fresh lust. He sucked, sucked, sucked harder still until Dean flinched back and withdrew his cock, scowling, Sam’s curls still bunched in his hand.  
  
“Easy,” he growled.  
  
“Dean,” Sam said, licking his lips. “If I want Caleb, I don’t need your permission. Yours or Dad’s. It’s my business.”  
  
Dean’s eyebrows shot up and then he used that silent control he’d been keeping in reserve. He pulled Sam’s head back with those curls, just enough to force him to look up—right into Dean’s eyes. They stared at each other, both breathing deeper and deeper, tongues tracking over darkening, swelling lips, brows flinching from the rush of the power play.   
  
In an evenly measured monotone, Dean said, “Sam, we have a pact.”  
  
Sam blinked. “I know that. But the more you tell me no, the more you’re making me want to do him. I don't get off on taking orders like you do, Dean.”  
  
Forcing out a burst of mirthless laughter, Dean pulled on those curls again. “Is that so?”  
  
They stared at each other for a long tense moment. Dean could hear his heartbeat banging in his ears.   
  
“You think that old man could do you better than I can?” he hissed, fingers digging, digging into Sammy’s hair.  
  
Sam’s chest rose and fell quickly as his breath drew in and out. His eyes were dark with arousal and his cheeks and mouth dewy, flushed. “I think he could fuckin' rock my clock.” He said and then he swallowed and licked his lips again, maybe savoring the taste of the tension crackling between them.  
  
Dean pulled harder on Sam’s hair, bore down close—so close, they were exchanging the same air. Sam’s eyes flitted over Dean’s face, taking in the details quickly—freckles, flushed cheeks, long dense lashes, nostrils flaring with hard breath. Sam was panting now. Dean could feel his brother’s pulse against his fingers straining at the back of Sam’s neck. So fast, so thick. Oh, yeah. Sammy was havin’ _fun_.   
  
Amid the forced tension, Dean’s brow twitched curiously. “You like this?” he whispered and then he pulled Sam’s hair again. Hard.  
  
A little gasp escaped Sam’s blood-crimson lips and then he reached under the sheet to touch his cock. That was answer enough for Dean.  
  
“Ooh,” he cooed. “I get you now. You don't wanna take orders, but you don't mind a little . . .” He leaned so close their noses touched. “ _Guidance_.”  
  
Sam’s eyes glowed, hand busy under the sheet, breath shallow, ragged.  
  
Dean snickered. “You want me to give you a little _who’s your daddy_ , Sammy?”  
  
Sam grinned, sudden and out of context, and shook his head. “Dude, don’t say ‘daddy’ right now. You’ll put me in therapy.”  
  
Dean tried not to laugh, but lost the battle. They were both so ramped up that the laughter came on easy and deep and it took them a while to get back in the moment. He let go of Sam’s hair and bent forward chuckling and wiping at his eyes. They didn’t usually play like this—fierce and rough—so it was new, fun territory and judging by both their physical reactions, it was going decidedly well. Finally, they composed themselves, grinned at each other and stepped back into stride.  
  
“Okay,” Dean said. “Sorry. Where was I?”  
  
“Pulling my hair,” Sam whispered, grinned, stroked his long, engorged cock slowly. “Nice and hard, too. Feels _good_ , Dean.”  
  
Dean inhaled the sugar-musk of Sam’s arousal, grinned back. “Right.” Finding those damp curls just where he left them, Dean pushed his brother back and straddled Sam’s hips on the mattress. He shoved his cock forward, dangling it just beyond Sam’s lips and then he quirked a shit eatin’ grin. “You want that?” he said, bouncing his swollen cock gently like so much juicy bait.   
  
Sam swallowed and tried to move forward, but Dean held him back—pulled him back until the crown of his head touched the wall behind the bed. Sam stroked his cock faster and faster, the sheet falling away from the increased ministrations. His panting breaths picked up his voice carrying it off to an uneven humming. His dark lips were swollen with blood and he licked them, trying to form a word, trying to say something.  
  
“. . . Dean . . .”  
  
“Mmmm hmmmm,” Dean purred, pulled his brother’s hair, tilted forward enough to slap his cock head against Sam’s chin. He was so aroused and sensitive he could feel the tickle of his brother’s evening whiskers, almost sharp to his cock but so whisper-fine to his lips.  
  
Sam panted harder. “Dean . . . please . . .” His hips arched and his eyes squeeze shut, right hand pumping, pumping his eager cock. “Please kiss me . . .”  
  
Dean leaned forward, held onto those damp curls and mashed his lips against Sam’s, crushing him with a brutal kiss. His tongue drove into Sam’s mouth, battled and licked, devoured and then Sam was sucking his bottom lip way too hard. He could feel teeth on both sides of his lip as Sam's tongue pulled and drew on the flesh, quicker, quicker, so roughly that Dean tasted blood . . . and then Sam screamed and his back bowed.  
  
Dean gasped, forced himself not to beat off and just watched his brother come. Sam’s face went dark red and his eyes squeezed so tightly closed that tears tracked down his sweaty cheeks. His mouth was open as he gasped for air and his bottom lip was indeed stained cherry red with Dean’s blood.   
  
Sam shook as the spasms tore through him, his fist pulling splash after splash of hot milky ejaculate from his cock, spraying and splattering over his thighs and belly. The salt-fruit-buttery scent of it filled Dean’s mouth making him salivate and swallow twice. He held onto Sam’s hair tightly, knowing the force he was using was driving his little brother to that fever pitch of pleasure. He waited, watched, tried to breathe and tried not to blow his boiling load all over Sam’s chest.  
  
No, not yet. Dean wanted to save that for another purpose.  
  
Sam's body went limp with release and Dean let go of those wet curls so his brother could lie back on the bed. Sam's eyes were still closed and his breathing was still too fast and shallow. Dean leaned over him, one arm on each side, then bent down to lick Sam's hot, wet lips. He ran his tongue over the bottom one, licked and tasted the sweet penny flavor of his own blood and then he kissed those lips very gently again and again until Sammy calmed. Dean brushed his nose over his brother's soft stubble, nipped at his chin and kissed his cheeks. And then Sam was looking at him with heavy lidded eyes.  
  
"Dude," Sam breathed.  
  
"Hm." More soft kisses on the cheeks and lips, forehead, chin.  
  
"You're bleeding. God, I'm sorry." Sam reached up with his long fingers and gingerly prodded his brother's full bottom lip until fresh blood dripped from the tiny wound there. Dean could feel it when it rose, the moisture nearly a hundred degrees from inside his body, cooling instantly in the air. Sam's tongue was out again and he licked Dean's lip, stroked the wound back and forth, swallowed the fresh trickle of blood. Sam sighed and his licking turned into kisses.  
  
"Disgusting," he murmured against Dean's mouth.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Even your blood tastes good."   
  
Grinning, Dean stretched out on top of Sam's body, balancing with his palms and shins on the bed. His cock was so hard still, throbbing and dripping as it reached for the heat of Sammy's belly. Sam stroked Dean's back and torso from shoulders to hip bones, long fingers tickling and soothing, teasing every inch of skin except for that swollen cock.   
  
"Don't you wanna put that in my mouth?" he whispered, eyes sparkling with playful lust. "Tell me you do. Please?"   
  
Dean breathed a laugh, gaze strong and intense on his brother's dark green eyes. “What I want, Sammy, is to make you scream my name so loud that you’ll completely forget Caleb’s.”  
  
Those eyes widened, rounded and then Sam smiled. "You're being retarded about that, Dean. It's a crush. Whatever it is, it's fuckin' nothing compared to this. You know better." He stroked Dean's cheeks with his fingertips, trailing the touch over his earlobes, neck and chest.   
  
Dean looked in Sam's eyes and just held his gaze for a long, quiet moment. His fingers cupped Sam's head and played in the soft hair, lifting the chestnut locks, petting them, letting them fall back into place. Sam let him stare, stared back but no words were exchanged. Finally, Dean lowered his head to kiss his brother's lips gently at first, then with more intent and wetness. Sam met his kiss with a warm, open mouth and Dean shivered when Sam moaned against his lips.   
  
"Tell me you're not really mad," Sam whispered as their lips slid over each other, tongues tasting sweet saliva and blood.   
  
"I'm not really mad," Dean parroted and then he took Sammy's bottom lip between his teeth, gnawed gently then not so gently. The harder he bit, the more Sam shivered and moaned as though he wanted Dean to break that delicate skin. Dean was so aroused, he wanted that, too. He wanted everything of Sam—body, blood, heart, soul and bone. He closed his teeth just that little bit harder until Sam flinched, but he didn't pull away.   
  
A long breathy moan vibrated against Dean's mouth as Sammy stroked his back and ass with his long fingers. When the blood touched his tongue, Dean nearly swooned, lapping and savoring the bright copper flavor. He'd made a tiny cut in Sammy's bottom lip in the shape of his right front tooth and Dean sucked at the wound, sighed and swallowed, lowering his hips down to connect his twitching cock with Sam's hot belly flesh.   
  
"Dean," Sam panted, eyes closed, lip extended into Dean's mouth as he sucked at the cut.   
  
"Mmm."  
  
"Dean . . . put your dick in my mouth . . .please . . ."  
  
One last hard suck made Sam groan with pleasure-pain and then they were looking at each other. Dean's hips worked in long slow pumps, rubbing his throbbing erection into the silky skin of his brother's tightly muscled tummy. He couldn't stop moving, even though he didn't want to come yet. It felt so good, so necessary, the perfect scratch to that itch. He felt his balls tingle and his nipples hardened and his tongue tasted his own lips over and over, Sammy blood and Sammy spit in every swallow.   
  
"Dean . . ." Sam pleaded. He pushed up quickly with his hips, almost tossing Dean onto his back on the bed, but not quite.   
  
Strong fingers found Sam's lean right hip and gripped the bone while Dean lifted himself up onto his knees in the sheets. Eyes locked, he squeezed Sam's hip until he had a tight hold, then he deftly and quickly turned his little brother onto his belly.   
  
Dean moved down so he could crawl between Sam's long naked legs. He balanced with his hands on either side of Sam's waist and then he lowered down, his tongue finding the groove of Sam's spine. He licked all the way up until his nose was buried in those curls at the nape, rubbed his face in them, licked at them and tasted sweat and Sammy skin, tugged the curls with his teeth, then licked in the other direction all the way to the ledge of the tailbone. He heard Sam say his name and he looked up to see his little brother watching him, head turned on the bed, craning just a little so he didn't miss anything. Sam's expression was so bare and boyish, it flooded Dean with a lifetime of memories and almost made him cry.  
  
For a moment they just looked at each other, both panting and flushed, ravenous. Then Dean wet his lips and his tongue was out again, stroking saliva over the tender flesh of Sammy's right ass cheek. Tiny blond hairs decorated the skin there and Dean moaned because they tickled his face as he moved, nuzzled, licked. Sam's hips trembled and tried to stay still but he was so ready, tenuous and quivering with anticipation.  
  
"Dean . . ." he whispered again but Dean had things to do, no time to chat.   
  
He knew he didn't have much time before either his cock erupted or he lost his resolve to carry out his plan. Bumping his nose into the satiny skin below Sam's tailbone, Dean's tongue stretched down to taste Sam's twitching anus. First contact made them both gasp and then Sam was shaking with the strain of trying to stay still. Dean licked the bittersweet ring of wrinkled flesh over and over, inhaling Sammy's musk and swallowing the saliva flooding his mouth. Dean's cock lurched and wet his belly with a fresh, hot squirt of clear fluid and he knew it was now or never.  
  
His right hand slipped under Sam's body, flat on the tight hot skin below the navel. He felt Sam's cock against the back of his hand, hard and leaking, burning with blood. Dean lifted his brother's hips and scooted in behind him. His left hand went to his mouth and he sucked on his middle finger, soaking it copiously with spit. That slick finger went with absolutely no ceremony from his mouth right up inside Sam's burning hole, driving up and out, stroking, lubricating, teasing. Sam bucked, pushed his hips back into his brother's touch. His long fingers grabbed at the loose sheets and clutched until his knuckles went white.  
  
Dean's heart raced and thudded and he could feel his hard pulse in his cock as he took hold of it and guided the twitching tip into the palm of his left hand. He took a deep breath and tried not to think too much and then he slid his finger free, replacing it without hesitation with his rigid cock.  
  
Sammy was so open, so ready. He'd been ready for this ride since he was thirteen and first started hinting at wanting it. This was a prize he'd coveted for half his life. There was no tugging, no pushing, no pain—just sudden bright bliss and primal body knowledge of the terrain as though Dean's cock had been born in that tight, hot space. Home, that was. All-consuming, pulsating, shattering sex-wet home.   
  
He heard someone murmuring to god and then realized it was him.   
  
Dean's eyes squeezed closed and both hands grabbed Sam's hips, holding on as much for balance as for control. For a breathless instant, he hovered where he was—frozen and suspended by the heat, wetness and pressure of his younger brother's body. He felt Sammy trembling, heard his desperate whimpering and knew he had to get on with it, but just for a second or two Dean Winchester held his breath.  
  
In the darkness behind his eyelids he was in that diner a decade before, staring at his father's beautiful green eyes that flashed with panic and anger. Dean could feel the sting of that slap on the left side of his face, so sudden and so unusual. John Winchester bellowed a lot when they were growing up but he rarely resorted to physical punishments. The few times he did, he ended up crying harder than either of his children.   
  
_Say you promise. Say that exact word because it MEANS something._   
  
Dean had promised. Promised to absolutely, positively never do just what he was doing at that moment. No matter how much he'd wanted it as he and Sammy surged through their teens, boiling with a lust for each other that no outsider could touch. There had been days when he'd wanted his cock buried deep inside Sammy more than he wanted to breathe. He'd always known how it would feel and he'd always known how he would feel doing it.  
  
But John's eyes had found his son's soul in that momentary eyelid dark. Dean couldn't move, couldn't breathe and didn't want to look at what he was doing—how he was breaking his word to his father. All in instant, Dean lost his nerve.  
  
"I can't, Sammy . . ." he breathed, eyes closed tight so he wouldn't remember what this looked like, fingers digging into his brother's hips. "I . . . just . . ."  
  
Sam wriggled away from him so suddenly that Dean's eyes popped open. His little brother turned around on the bed and pushed Dean's shoulders until he was on his back. Sam straddled Dean's hips, skin wet and glistening, belly and thigh muscles rippling and tensing. He balanced on his shins, reached between his legs with his right hand and grabbed Dean's stiff cock. With a little maneuvering, he had the position right—and Sammy slid right down, claiming his prize again.  
  
Dean tried to move but Sam was taller than him, bigger, and pulsing with determination to consummate this act. He slid so far down that his butt cheeks touched Dean's balls and then he slid back up, then down, up and down, torture sweet and raw.   
  
The pleasure was searing, brutal and relentless. Dean cried out and grabbed his brother's hips, his body betraying his heart's refusal to do this thing, to break that promise, to let his daddy down. As soon as Sam started to move, there was no more fear, no more diner, no more stinging slap and no more John. All that was left was him and Sammy and everything they were together and that brilliant explosion of ecstasy ripping them to shreds.  
  
Dean's hips lurched upward, found the rhythm, and his gaze fixed on the place where he and Sam were connected. He stared unblinking as his cock disappeared into Sam's body, then slid back out, powerful and rigid, quivering with the need for more stimulation, more, more . . . more. Sam's hands went behind him on the mattress and his hips tilted backward, realigning the angle of penetration. His cock bobbed and shuddered in the air, the head weeping and dark red—the same color his lips had turned, and his nipples.   
  
Dean moved faster, plunged his cock inside and snapped it out, groaning deep in his core as the trajectory of this long forbidden pleasure threatened to make him pass out. So sweet, Sammy felt. So hot and perfect and wet and delicious. Dean's cock kicked and tensed and then he tumbled over the edge, shooting what felt like the biggest load his body had ever released. The seed burst out of him full of purpose and direction, slicking Sam's insides with creamy heat. Dean felt that orgasm in every fiber, every nerve. Every tiny hair on his skin shivered like wild grass in a summer breeze. The spasms kept coming, pulling deeper from his balls every time until the pleasure stopped and pain squeezed in. He threw his head back and yelled up at the ceiling. In his mind he screamed the words _no more, can't take anymore . . . stop_.  
  
And Sam did stop.   
  
In fact, he froze and stared at his brother with his lust-dark eyes round and wide. He'd stopped on a down stroke and he was almost sitting in Dean's lap, his cock still buried deep inside. Sam stared, chest heaving and then he licked his lips.   
  
"Dean . . ."  
  
"What?" He frowned at Sam's shuddering cock, engorged and right on the painful brink of climax. "Sammy, come. What're you doing?"  
  
"I . . . heard you," Sam said, panting, body still frozen in mid thrust. "In my head. Just now . . . you said 'no more, can't take anymore, stop'."  
  
Dean's brow wrinkled in confusion, thinking he must have actually spoken when he didn't mean to. "What the hell? Sammy—" He shifted under Sam's weight, pushing his still hard cock up into his brother's burning body. Looking in Sam's eyes, his voice was a ragged rasp. "Come, Sammy. Please . . . I need you to finish." His hips worked in even rhythm, stroking Sam from the inside, caressing all those delicious nerve endings until he felt his brother succumb to trembling again.  
  
Sam watched his face intently but he matched Dean's cadence with his own hips. The orgasm was right there, hovering just a breath away, and it was on him again in seconds. Dean felt his brother's body convulse with the first spasm, his hot hole clamping tight on Dean's cock. Sam's body vibrated so hard it shook the bed beneath them and his long heavy cock spurted and jerked, spraying his belly and thighs with fresh ejaculate.   
  
Dean held his breath and watched everything—Sam's trembling legs and belly, his gorgeous cock erupting over and over, the sweat pooling along his straining abs, rivulets dripping down over his ribs as he moved. Dean held onto his brother's hips, feeling Sam's weight begin to shift and relax as each spasm of climax waned, drained him of strength. A few more seconds and Sam finally tilted forward onto his knees, hands landing on either side of Dean's shoulders. Sweat dropped from his hair and face onto Dean's hair and face and they stared at each other while Sam gently pulled himself free. He flopped on the mattress at Dean's side, his arm draping heavily over Dean's torso, burning lips pressed into his brother's shoulder.   
  
"I heard you," Sam said in a panting whisper. "I totally heard you, Dean. Do it again."  
  
Dean nodded, but he was still catching his breath. For a moment he just laid still as his body relaxed and his heartbeat slowed to normal. His cock was still swollen and it rested against his thigh, heavy and warm, but his balls ached to the point of throbbing. He shook his head, marveling at how intense the last few moments had been. They'd been tumbling in whirlwinds of emotion doing battle with lust that wouldn't take no for an answer—wouldn't even hear it. Dean smiled to himself then closed his eyes and thought of a single, clear sentence.  
  
_Still think old Caleb could do you better?_  
  
Sam flinched and lifted his head, staring at Dean with narrowed eyes. And then right inside his head, Dean heard his brother say _Caleb who?_  
  
The boys blinked at each for a second and then they grinned like drunken cowboys.  
  
"Holy shit!" Sam said, excited and amazed at the same time.   
  
"Yeah." Dean turned on his side facing Sam, looking for his little brother's fingers with his own. They're hands touched, fingers laced and they smiled at each other. In his head, Dean said _That's what Missouri said would happen_.  
  
Sam nodded and silently replied _I thought so_.


	2. Chapter 2

Ritual Part Two  
  
Dean grinned and used his voice. "This is quite an advantage. Now I can talk dirty to you in public and no one will know."  
  
"Oh, yes they will," Sam said. "My big boner will be a dead give away." He grinned, leaned in for a kiss and then another. Scooting until their bellies touched, Sam sighed and nuzzled Dean's chin. For a long time they didn't say anything and Dean was a little bit grateful. His thoughts were jumbled crazily, churned and roiled by his unsteady emotions. He knew he was frowning and knew Sammy would see, but he couldn't help it. Didn't want to, really. Dean needed to talk about this.  
  
Sam kissed his cheek softly then whispered in Dean's ear. "You okay?"  
  
"Um . . ." Dean brushed his nose against Sam's, kissed his hot lips and spoke against them. "I . . . dunno. I guess."  
  
Sam kissed him back, spoke against Dean's lips. "Are you mad at me for bein' all bossy? I mean, I kinda . . . insisted. And that wasn't cool."  
  
"It's okay, Sammy. I get it."  
  
Sam kissed his lips again then looked in Dean's eyes. "It's just that . . .you were gonna stop."  
  
"Mm hmm."  
  
"I couldn’t let you," Sam whispered. "I don't know why, Dean. But I couldn't let you stop."  
  
"I know," Dean said. "I said I understand. I do." He quirked a flirty smile. "It's not like I didn't enjoy it or anything. I love it when you get all raw like that."  
  
Sam smiled back but then his forehead knit. "What happened, then? Was it Dad? Were you thinking about him?"  
  
Dean pressed a kiss into Sam's hot cheek, then kissed his lips. "I was . . . ya know, havin' a flashback to that day in the diner when you were twelve. Jacked me all up." John's eyes came into Dean's mind so clearly, he almost shivered. He could even see the shadow of his father's thick lashes on his cheeks and tiny flecks of amber in his dark green irises.  
  
And then, John's voice was in his head just like Sam's had been a moment before.  
  
 _Dean?_  
  
His heart hammered in his ears and he sat straight up in bed.  
  
"What?" Sam said, concerned. He sat up, too, placing his hand on Dean's back.  
  
Dean turned to him with his eyes strained wide. "It's Dad. I can hear him, just like I can hear you."  
  
"You gotta be kidding me," Sam said. "Really?"  
  
Dean only nodded, straining to listen for his father's voice again. In his head he said _Dad? You there?_  
  
John replied instantly. _Yes. Now be quiet._  
  
Sam's hand that had been resting on Dean's shoulder pulled away like it had been burned.  
  
"Oh my god," he said. "I heard him." He looked at his hand, looked at Dean's shoulder, looked in his eyes. "It's cuz I was touching you."  
  
Dean frowned, his heart banging away in his chest and then the phone rang, startling them both so much they jumped. Dean reached for it, bringing the receiver to his ear with a trembling hand.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Dean, it's me," John said.  
  
"Dad, what—"  
  
"Shhhh. Listen, son. Remember what I told you—the guardian uses our thoughts like a subway track. We don’t know how it does it, but that's how it finds us."  
  
"Right," Dean said.  
  
"Don't connect to me again until Caleb is done with the ritual. It could put me in a great deal of danger. Do you understand?"  
  
"Yes sir." Dean swallowed and his throat clicked.  
  
"How did you make that happen in the first place," John said and then he stammered a bit. "Wait, I don’t mean _how_ did you make it happen. I know that part. I mean, what did you do to reach me? We've never done that before."  
  
Frowning, Dean shook his head to clear it, then tried to remember exactly what he'd done before his father's voice came into his head. "Uh, I . . . Sammy and I were talking . . . about you . . . and . . ." he sighed in frustration. "I don't know, Dad. I don't know what I did."  
  
"Okay," John took a deep breath, concentrating. "Missouri told me that she can reach her family in this same way by picturing their eyes. Did you do anything like that?"  
  
"Yes," Dean said, perking up. "I did _exactly_ that. I was thinking about that day . . ." he trailed off, not wanting to remind his father of the panic and anger he felt on that life-changing afternoon, but there was no moss on John Winchester.  
  
"When Sammy was twelve," he said, his voice crackling and soft. "That day in the diner when you made me slap you."  
  
"Mm hmm." Dean sighed and lowered his face into his hand. For a long time neither of them spoke, they just listened to the other breathe through the phone. Then John cleared his throat.  
  
"Dean, we don't need to discuss this now. In fact, we don't need to discuss it at all—ever. This is private, between you and Sammy. Quite honestly, I don't want to know. I already know too much about it from Missouri."  
  
"I know," Dean whispered and salty tears began to burn his eyes. "I know you don't want to know, Dad, but . . . I need to say . . ."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
John said nothing at first and then Dean heard his father sigh. "There's no need," he said, but the words were tight and unnatural. "The promise I demanded had an expiration date and we both know that, Dean. The fact that you kept it all this time amazes me."  
  
"I gave you my word," Dean said. "I've never broken my word to you."  
  
"I know, son. Believe me. But I also know how persuasive Sammy can be. Especially with you. You toughed it out for much longer than I'd ever expected, kiddo. Your word is still golden as far as I'm concerned."  
  
Dean didn't reply because he couldn't. His throat was so tight he could hardly breathe.  
  
John went on, his voice raw but gentle. "Put your brother on, okay?"  
  
Dean just handed the phone to Sam, looking up into his brother's eyes. Sam regarded him with a mixture of concern and anxiety as he brought the phone to his ear.  
  
"Dad, it's me," Sam said into the receiver. "Are you okay?"  
  
Through the phone Dean could hear John reply that he was fine and that he wanted Sammy to try something with him.  
  
"Okay." His eyes held onto Dean's gaze like a lifeline.  
  
John's voice went too soft for Dean to hear the words, but he could gather what was going on by his brother's expressions. Their father wanted Sam to talk to him just to make sure he could do it, as well.  
  
"Okay." Sam took a deep breath then exhaled slowly. He closed his eyes and frowned in concentration. Dean waited, watched, held his breath. And then suddenly, Sam's eyes shot open, wide with excitement. "Whoa!" he said looking right in Dean's eyes. He mouthed the words 'it worked' and Dean grinned.  
  
John spoke to his youngest for a few moments longer, clearly giving him the same admonitions he'd given Dean about contacting him mentally before the guardian was under control. Sam listened, nodded, said a few dutiful 'yes sirs' and then they finished their call. Handing the cell back to Dean, Sam let out a deep sigh.  
  
"Okay, this is weird."  
  
"Yeah," Dean said. He let out a deep breath and laid back down on the pillows with his arms crossed over his eyes. In the darkness he could see his father's face again, a memory that time. John's beautiful eyes twinkling as he laughed at the boys—then nine and thirteen—trying in vain to wash his new second-hand Silverado. They were both sopping wet, their jeans and t-shirts ringing with soapy water. The boys were tall for their respective ages, but not quite tall enough to scale that big pick-up with any success. The memory made Dean want to laugh and cry at the same time.  
  
Sam's warm hand came to rest on Dean's belly and he reached down to cover it with his own. Letting his other arm slide back down onto the bed, Dean looked at Sam, eyes half mast and sleepy. Sam looked back for a long time, his handsome young face showing every emotion that drifted through him—concern, affection, curiosity, worry. Finally, Sam bit his lip and frowned a little.  
  
"What's wrong, Dean?"  
  
"Nothing. I'm just . . . getting used to the idea."  
  
"The telepathy thing?"  
  
He shook his head with a sad smile. "No, the other thing."  
  
Sam's shoulders slumped. "Oh." He looked down at their clasped hands and licked his lips. "So, you're gonna be all guilty about that now?"  
  
"I . . . don't know, Sam."  
  
"I don't get it." His little brother stretched out on the bed next to him, tucking in close, resting his head on Dean's shoulder. Sam's green eyes squinted with concern. "You're acting like you did something wrong, Dean. You apologized to Dad, for fuck's sake." Sam frowned hard, shook his head. "This has nothing to do with Dad."  
  
Dean's brow lifted in agreement. "That's pretty much what he said."  
  
"Well?" Sam said. "Then why are you torturing yourself? Is it fun for you?"  
  
Dean shot him an annoyed glare then looked away, focusing once again on their entwined hands. He ran his thumb over the soft skin on Sam's knuckles, back and forth, feeling the bones, gently wiggling his brother's long, elegant fingers. He bit his lip thoughtfully, wincing a little from the tiny bite wound there. It had stopped bleeding but it still felt tender and new.  
  
Sam kissed his cheek then his neck very softly. Brushing his nose against Dean's ear, Sam spoke in a husky whisper. "Dean, you did that for me. Because I wanted it. We don't ever have to do it again if it upsets you this much."  
  
Dean sighed and turned his head to nuzzle Sam's nose. "That's not it, Sammy. I just . . . I needed to do it, too. I mean . . . yeah, it freaked me out, but . . . I needed to do it as much as you did. I've wanted it for just as long—probably longer. It felt . . . ya know, perfect."  
  
Sam smiled. "Yeah."  
  
They looked at each other, noses touching, clasped fingers tightening and stroking.  
  
Dean knew what he wanted to say but the idea of saying it was making his heart pound. He took a deep breath and slowly released it, then he swallowed and licked his lips.  
  
"Sammy . . ."  
  
Sam kissed his lips softly, patiently, waiting for him to go on.  
  
Dean had to close his eyes before he went any further. Not seeing Sam's reaction to what he was going to say would make it a tiny bit easier. But not much.  
  
"I almost stopped because I was scared."  
  
"Of what?" Sam whispered. More fluttering kisses on his swollen lips, evening bearded chin, flushed cheeks.  
  
"Of . . . you knowing . . . everything."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
Dean forced himself to open his eyes and he found Sam looking right at him, his cat like green eyes searching and pensive.  
  
"Doing that . . . being inside you like that . . . I just knew you could tell everything I was feeling," Dean said, his voice shaky and fragile. "That scares the hell outta me, man. It's like I have nothing of my own anymore. Like it's all . . . out there between us now."  
  
Sam's brow wrinkled and then a small smile played on his lips. "Dean, you've never been able to hide anything from me. I've always known everything you were feeling. You tell me everything every time you touch me or even look at me. And last time I checked . . . the only secret you had was me, this."  
  
Dean bit his lip again but inside his heartbeat began to slow to normal. After a moment he smiled as well, but not because his brother was right. He smiled because Sammy was wrong. And that was an epic relief.  
  
"Besides," Sam said. "You know your secrets are safe with me."  
  
He didn't say anything, just kept smiling that crooked smile until Sam kissed him again and again and again. He kept smiling as their bodies tangled lazily, warming each other, comforting and petting. He smiled as Sam fell asleep with his head on Dean's chest, Dean's fingers endlessly stroking his brother's sinfully silky chestnut hair.  
  
When he fell asleep his own heartbeat was even and steady and all that was on his mind was resting up for the next day's events.  
  
***  
  
Butch sniffed the cement in front of the boys' motel room door and shoved the dried animal bones there with his snout. Caleb bent at the knees and picked up one of the small bones, holding it up to the waning twilight. It was feather light and dried through, most likely the bone of a cat or a fox. Clearly, the bones had been pelted against the window in one big spray. School yard bullying guardian-style. He dropped the bone on the ground and Butch came over to sniff it, grabbing it up in his front teeth.  
  
"Don’t bite on that," Caleb said, holding the dog's muzzle in his large hand and pushing his long teeth apart. "Gimme." He tweezed the spit-wet bone out with his fingers and tossed it into the parking lot. Still holding Butch's furry face he smiled, petting the dog's head. "You don't know where that's been, buddy."  
  
Butch grunted his agreement.  
  
As he stood up, the motel room door opened and there appeared strappin' young Sam Winchester. His jeans were dark denim and loose on his long lean legs and his ragged blue flannel was only buttoned down to his waist, leaving the shirt tails to drape over his flat hips. Caleb's keen eye spotted the hem of a well-washed cotton t-shirt and the edge of the elastic of Sammy's underwear just above his belt line. For a moment, he struggled to smack down that dirty old man that was trying to con his way to the surface. No, no, he thought. This yummy morsel is Johnny’s baby son and entirely off limits.  
  
"Hey," Caleb said, grinning as he walked forward to put his arms around Johnny's youngest.  
  
Sammy smiled that mega-watt smile and let himself be hugged good and tight. His too-long hair was freshly washed and smelled like summer rain as it tickled Caleb's cheek for the brief moment they embraced. Everything about that boy was sweet torture. Caleb was very relieved when Sammy stepped away.  
  
Butch had gone ahead into the room and he was parked in front of Dean who sat on the unmade bed the boys must have shared. Caleb tried not to imagine what they'd got up to last night and most likely all of that day before he arrived. The room had the distinct odor of clean sweat, musky sweet boy semen and ass.  
  
He strolled across the ugly worn-thin greenish carpet and stood in front of Dean, looking down at the young man's beautiful face. Caleb offered a small but genuinely contrite smile.  
  
"Dean-o," he said, hoping Dean would stand and accept a hug.  
  
Dean gave Butch one last ruffle of his head fur then he stood and met Caleb's gaze. He didn't look angry but he wasn't smiling, either. That expression was 100% pure John.  
  
Taking a deep breath, Caleb spoke softly but directly. "You're not gonna hold a grudge, are you?"  
  
Dean’s head shook once decisively. "No, sir."  
  
Polite obedience was not what Caleb wanted. He wanted Dean to forgive him.  
  
"Okay," he said. "How 'bout this. I'm sorry for slippin' up with Sammy last night. It won't happen again."  
  
Dean's brow raised, changing his expression to another one that was stolen right off Johnny's face. This one was a little snide and a little playful.  
  
"Oh, I know it won't," Dean said, all cocky confidence. Caleb loved that about the kid. "Cuz if it does, I'm gonna kick your ass, old man."  
  
He couldn't help but laugh even if it was mostly tension release. "Come on, Dean-o. You can't blame me."  
  
Dean shook his head and his gorgeous John-shaped eyes flitted to his brother, flirted with his brother. "No, sir. I definitely can't."  
  
Glancing back at Sammy, Caleb saw the boy grin and blush just a bit. He wasn't embarrassed by the attention by any means, it just made his hot young blood rush.  
  
"All right, then," Caleb said and he opened his arms to pull Dean into a hug. Thankfully, the boy let him. Even hugged him back nice and strong.  
  
Butch circled the unmade bed then jumped up onto it, walked in a small square then laid down with his nose tucked under the rumpled sheet. Caleb winked at him, envious of the mouth watering smells the dog must be enjoying. Sam crossed to the bed and sat down beside Butch, giving his big white head a few strokes. Butch licked his hand over and over.  
  
"Sit down," Dean said, extending his hand to the other bed that was remained neatly made by the motel’s housekeeper.  
  
Caleb sat, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. Dean sat beside Sammy and they both looked at him expectantly.  
  
"So, your daddy called me late last night," he began. "Said you boys hooked up the mind-talking mojo." He tapped his forehead with his index finger. "Is that right?"  
  
"Yeah," Sammy said. "We can talk to him, too."  
  
"He told me," Caleb said. "You know you can't do that until I'm done with guardian, right?"  
  
"Yes, sir," they said together and the combined vibration of their deep, grown men voices tickled Caleb's insides. So much Johnny in both of them.  
  
"Good," he said, nodding. "Sammy, I need your mom's wedding ring. Your daddy said you had it."  
  
"I do." Sam got off the bed and went to his bag, lifting a few folded and rolled garments out of the way and then plucking out a black leather cord. From it dangled Mary Winchester's delicate gold wedding band. It had been the only thing remaining of her after the fire, save for enough tooth and bone to identify her body.  
  
Sam walked over and placed the ring and cord into Caleb's open hand. The thin gold band seemed so small there, nearly obscured by the coil of black leather. Caleb remembered the day Johnny put that ring on Mary's finger. He remembered because he'd been standing at John Winchester's side. Their wedding was one of the three times in Caleb Marshall's life he'd worn a suit and tie. The other two occasions were the funerals of his own mother and of John's beautiful Southern belle bride.  
  
He realized the three of them had gone very quiet and when he looked up at Dean, his pretty eyes were red and straining with tears. He looked at his mother's ring, then looked away. Sammy was standing between the two of them and he put his hand on his brother's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. Dean tilted his head forward until his bee-stung lips puckered against the skin of Sammy's hand. Caleb tucked Mary's ring and the cord into the breast pocket of his flannel, closing the metal snap over it to keep it secure. He would add it to the raw hide pouch when he got back to the truck.  
  
"Okay," he said, running his palms over his denim covered thighs. "Let's go get some grub and wait on the moon." He stood up facing Sammy who was still touching Dean's shoulder. After a long moment, Dean stood up as well, and Caleb gave a nod to Butch that they were leaving.  
  
The big dog trotted out the motel room door and moved in a criss-cross ahead of them all the way to the Hummer. The night had taken over by then and the sky was velvety blue-black, splattered with stars. They all glanced up at the same time and they all saw the same thing as it approached like a meteor made of charcoal smoke.  
  
The guardian swooped down and hovered above their heads, only inches from Sammy's long bangs. It was manifested as inky vapor, shifting and pulsating, ever changing its shape, but it had a face that night. The eyes were the size of tea cup saucers and they glowed like polished chrome—hard, cold silver. Below the eyes was a quivering line of white that cleaved in two and curved to imitate lips. Those lips brushed along Sam Winchester's nose only a hair's length away from the skin and then the soft hiss of a voice wafted through the night around them.  
  
"Sssssssssaaaaaammmmmmyyyyyy . . ."  
  
Sam gulped but stared the thing down, Dean lunged toward it, threatening with speed and aggression, and Butch leapt into the air with a shocking, ear splitting yelp. Caleb looked at the dog for a second wondering where the hell _that_ noise had come from. With everything they'd seen, hunted and killed, Butch had never made that sound before.  
  
The guardian pressed its vaporous mass so close to Sam's face that it almost blocked it from Caleb's view—but not quite. He had just enough visibility to see that thing extend a lizard tail of a tongue that it slithered over Sammy's trembling bottom lip. Sam shivered from head to toe, but stayed put. Dean was bellowing all basso and anger, Butch was yowling and leaping and Caleb pulled a silver flask out of his jacket pocket.  
  
He unscrewed the cap, tipped the flask to his lips and filled his mouth with the holy water inside. Puckering his lips tightly, he forced the water out in a spit-spray that rained down across the expanse of the guardian's form. The thing shrieked and whined, then drew itself up into a black cone with only one of those chrome glinting eyes. That eye glared at Caleb. And then that scratch of mouth appeared again.  
  
"Priiieeeesst," it hissed. "Kiiiiillll youuuuuu."  
  
Caleb smirked. "Yeah, all right, bitch. Knock yourself out."  
  
Butch leapt so high that his paws were nearly level with Caleb's eyes. He howled, gnashing his teeth and scratching into the air with his claws. The guardian glared at the dog and spit at him, but every time Butch jabbed his paw into the air, the filmy entity flinched back. Caleb grinned, knowing it was only a matter of seconds before the guardian burned up its energy supply and winked out. They all watched it continue its futile confrontation with Butch and then suddenly it vanished, shattering apart in a thousand bits of dark mist. But before it was gone, it had one more thing to say.  
  
"Iiimmpotent prieeeeest!!!"  
  
Caleb shook his head, twisting the cap back on the flask. "Now, that's insulting. There's no need to mock my manhood."  
  
The boys looked at him with wide eyes, adrenalin rushing in their strong, taut bodies. Sammy's hair, cheeks and nose sparkled with droplets of holy water and saliva. Caleb reached into his pocket for his handkerchief and handed it to John's youngest.  
  
"Sorry about that, kiddo. It's just water."  
  
Sam took the linen and stroked it over his face, then handed it back. He ran those impossibly long fingers through his hair, separating it into silky damp chunks.  
  
"Did it touch you or just appear to be touching you?" Caleb asked.  
  
Sam's fingers went to his bottom lip and dabbed it, then rubbed the finger pads together. He frowned. "It definitely touched me." The tip of his tongue flickered over his lip and he grimaced, using the back of his hand to wipe his mouth clean. "Eeck—it tastes like paint thinner."  
  
"Yeah?" Caleb said, interested. "Huh. Wonder why." He pocketed the flask and his handkerchief, then he kneeled down beside Butch. The dog was huffing and agitated, his muscles flinching, tense. "Easy, boy," Caleb said, but he didn't reach for the dog. He knew better than to touch Butch when he was wound up like that. Instead, he used his voice and demeanor to show his companion that everything was right again. "Sshhh. It's okay, buddy. The little bitch is gone for now. It's gotta go get more energy before it comes back. We've got a while." He said all this quietly while looking right in Butch's blue-white eyes.  
  
"Why did it call you a priest?" Dean said.  
  
Looking up, Caleb pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Uh, well . . . either it thinks I'm some sort of holy man or it's confused me Pastor Jim. The people around Johnny and his family are probably just a big blur to the guardian. We might all look alike. Who knows?" He stood, watching Butch with wary concern until he could actually see the dog calming. Finally, Butch sat on the asphalt at Sammy's side, once again panting amiably. Caleb nodded to him and Butch gave him an agreeable 'woo'.  
  
Reaching for the passenger door handle, Caleb pulled it open. "Come on, boys. Haul your cute little behinds inside."  
  
Dean put his hand on Sam's lower back indicated he should get in first. Sam did, climbing into the raised cab with graceful agility and scooting to the middle of the broad bench seat. Dean stepped up onto the running board and slid in beside his brother, turning back to look in Caleb's eyes. Dean's hand landed on Caleb's shoulder and he spoke in an earnest husk.  
  
"You're sure that thing can't hurt him?"  
  
Caleb blinked, took a breath. "No. I don't know what it's capable of, Dean-o. The only thing I'm sure of is what it wants and how I can get it out of your hair. That's really all we need tonight."  
  
Dean frowned, jaw tightening as he ground his teeth. His voluptuous lips were darker than usual that night and Caleb saw a tiny cut right in the center of the pouting lower lip. Looked like a bite mark and probably was. Apparently Sammy got a little rambunctious in the sack, which did not surprise Caleb one bit.  
  
He smiled at Dean then closed the heavy passenger door securely. He and Butch walked around the front of the truck and got in on the driver's side. Butch jumped into the cab, then hoisted himself into the smaller back seat, standing on the leather upholstery beside a black metal box. The box had an incongruously large combination lock on it that rattled when Butch paced on the seat. Sam and Dean pressed together, Sammy's long legs bent toward his brother. Dean's arm draped across the seat back, sturdy fingers curling around Sam's shoulder, unconsciously petting the age-softened flannel.  
  
The boys looked at Caleb and he looked back, quirking a playful grin. "You boys ain't scared or nothin', are you?"  
  
"No, sir," they said in practiced unison, but their body language told another tale.  
  
Caleb nodded acting like he believed them and patted Sam's knee, then he started the Hummer's big growling engine.  
  
  
***  
  
That night, they found a table in the corner of Juanito’s so they were able to speak more freely. Caleb watched the boys devour huge plates of enchilladas and tacos, swapping items without discussing the trade, casting lewd glances at each other, feet sparring affectionately under the table. As far as they were concerned, there already was no one else on earth but the two of them—but Caleb needed them even more bonded. He needed them frankly oblivious to the world around them, ravenous and totally melted into each other.  
  
Inside his jacket pockets were two flasks—one filled with holy water and the other filled with good whisky. Inside that good whisky was the essence of several flowers and herbs, the mixture of which blended into a colorless, odorless oil. The recipe for this mixture had been another gift from the brujo who’d given him Butch—the same man Johnny was meeting in Yosemite in the morning. Don Pedro Gravas was a medicine man, a healer. He knew a thing or two about human chemistry and he’d put his vast knowledge of the natural world to a few more . . . blue uses. The aphrodisiac Caleb carried was unbelievably powerful and lasted for hours. It was a blistering sex narcotic made from nothing but wild flowers and indigenous weeds.  
  
The boys wouldn’t know they’d consumed it. They’d never taste it, never notice it—until it hit them. And then, they’d be asking him questions. No matter. By then they’d be well under way. By then, the guardian would be salivating over their writhing naked bodies. Right where Caleb wanted it.  
  
They didn’t discuss the ritual over dinner, but they did talk about John. They reminisced and laughed, told stories that made Sammy blush and made Dean laugh so hard his eyes watered. They enjoyed each other’s company in this way for a little more than two hours and then Caleb glanced outside at the night sky through the window. The pale glow of the full moon made the street lamps look like the rib bones of a giant dragon looming over the black road below. Caleb took a deep breath, exhaled, then downed his last shot of Patron.  
  
“It’s time, boys,” he said. “Let’s head out.”  
  
John’s sons nodded stoically and pushed back their chairs. Caleb left a stack of cash for the bill and waved to their waiter as they headed out the door. Butch preceded them to the truck, whining softly and casting suspicious glances toward the starry sky. Before they got in, Caleb stopped the boys beside the passenger door.  
  
He reached into his pocket and took out the silver flask that did not contain holy water. Unscrewing the top, he handed the flask to Sam first, sneaking a quick opportunity for a flirtatious wink. "For luck," he said.  
  
Sam grinned back, blinked his pretty eyes slowly, then tilted the flask to his dark pink lips. He drank then handed the flask to Dean who raised it to them both before taking a deep sip of the enhanced whisky. He passed the flask back to Caleb who brought it to his lips, but pantomimed drinking. The last thing he needed was to be under the influence of that powerful elixir when he was trying to concentrate on the ceremony. Young Sammy's forbidden presence was bad enough on its own. Pocketing the flask, he opened the passenger door and the boys piled in. Caleb and Butch went around to the driver's side, the big dog leaping once again into the smaller back seat.  
  
As Caleb pulled the heavy driver's side door closed after him, he glanced back at his dog. "You watch the rear."  
  
Butch clicked his teeth and walked in a tight circle on the back bench before he sat, dutifully facing out the rear windshield. Sammy was watching the dog and grinning a little.  
  
"He totally understands you," he said.  
  
"Oh, yeah. Don't mean he always minds." Caleb switched on the ignition and the big truck thundered to life. He loved that sound. It was sturdy and reliable and fear-inducing. When it needed to be, it was even sexy.  
  
As he started out of the restaurant parking lot, he glanced at the boys sitting close together to his right. Dean had his arm across the bench seat and Sammy had scooted down so his head rested on his brother's shoulder. In Sammy's lap he held Dean's right hand, gently stroking the strong fingers and palm with his own fingers. Caleb could tell they were having some sort of silent conversation, even if they weren't employing their new found skill of telepathy. John and Mary Winchester's sons had been able to read each other ever since Sammy was born.  
  
The interstate was at the edge of town and mostly deserted that night. Caleb pulled on to the dark stretch of road heading south to the site he'd prepared for the ritual. It would take about an hour to get there and by then, the boys would be completely intoxicated by the aphrodisiac. He hoped the potion would also help relax them because he sensed their cresting anxiety. He could sense Johnny's, too, so many hundreds of miles away in California. The fact that they were apprehensive made everything worse for Caleb. He knew they trusted him, but clearly not enough to feel at ease.  
  
Trying to take his mind off things, he reached for the radio knob and switched it on. "How 'bout a little music?"  
  
"Sure," they boys said together.  
  
He pressed a few buttons searching their local radio choices, then landed on an old Kansas song. Classic rock fit any occasion as far as Caleb was concerned. He turned it down so they could talk if they wanted to and so he could keep alert to any unusual sounds around them.  
  
"So, you boys have any questions?" he said.  
  
"I have one," Dean said and his chilly tone made Caleb look over at him.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Why didn't you drink from the flask?"  
  
Sammy was looking at him, too, his smooth brow lifted with wary curiosity. The expression made him look dangerously young.  
  
"Because," Caleb said, taking a moment to think of a good explanation. On the fly, he decided there was no harm in telling them the truth. "The whisky had a little somethin' extra in it that's meant for the two of you—not for me."  
  
"You drugged us?" Dean said, that chill in his tone sharpening to cold Winchester steal.  
  
"It's not quite that dramatic, Dean-o," Caleb said sternly. "It's just an herbal tonic. It won't hurt or anything. You'll both piss it out by morning. I just need you to be . . ."  
  
"What?" Sam said. "What's going to happen?"  
  
Caleb sighed. "It's an aphrodisiac. It's gonna make you very, very interested in each other and hopefully _disinterested_ in anything else goin' on around you." He glanced over and found them both frowning at him with one of Johnny's frowns—the one that said 'I can't believe you did that without consulting me.'  
  
"We don't exactly have problems getting horny," Dean grumbled.  
  
"Right?" Sam said, his tone a bit chilly, as well.  
  
"Come on now, boys," Caleb said. "Don't get all righteous on me. I can almost guarantee you're gonna enjoy yourselves. So, just relax. Go with the flow." He looked at them again and they were both still frowning but they appeared to have no further comment.  
  
For a while they rode in silence, Caleb glancing into the rearview every once in a while to make sure they weren't being followed. Butch still stood sentry facing out the window but two pair of eyes were always better than one. Especially where unpredictable hell beasties were concerned.  
  
Glancing at the twenty-four hour clock on the dash, Caleb determined that don Pedro's potion had been in the boys' systems for about twenty minutes. They should be feeling it soon.  
  
As if on cue, he saw Sammy shift in the corner of his eye, turning toward his brother on the seat. Dean's arm pulled across Sammy's shoulders, drawing him closer, cuddling. His nose brushed lazily through Sammy's long bangs. Sammy sighed, nestling, relaxing against Dean's strong young body. They stayed like that for a while, softly nuzzling each other, trading whispers and slow kisses. Caleb could almost feel it when Sammy's tongue slid between Dean's open lips, gently tasting and stroking. Caleb shivered and looked at the road, but his peripheral vision was the eyes of the dirty old man always lurking just below his surface. It was nearly impossible not to watch them.  
  
Sammy's fingers found his brother's hot neck, stroked and tickled the close cropped golden hairs there. Dean was getting dark like his dad the older he got, but he still had wisps of tender blond at his hairline that caught even the faintest bit of light. His lashes were thick like Johnny's, too, but the edges of Dean's were also tinged gold. The effect was mesmerizing. It made Dean look like he was glowing from within.  
  
Sammy nudged Dean's neck just below the ear then pressed up for a tender kiss on the mouth. Dean kissed him back very gently, pretty eyes sliding closed with pleasure. Dean's fingers dove into Sammy's hair, tugging the curls at the back of his neck then releasing them, petting them. This action seemed entirely selfish, all about Dean's pleasure. And Sammy's hair was chestnut silk as it slid over his brother's covetous fingers.  
  
Caleb shook his head to clear it and took a deep, steadying breath. Keeping one eye on the road, he couldn't help watching the boys smooch, noses bumping, lips puckering and swelling. Their young whiskers were so soft they were almost downy as they tickled each other's plump boy cheeks.  
  
So beautiful and ripe they were with their sweet kisses that grew wetter and more urgent as the moments passed. Next time Caleb glanced at them, Sammy had Dean's full bottom lip tucked into his mouth for sucking. Caleb heard Dean sigh and he had to shift behind the wheel, tugging his jeans for a little more room at the crotch. Under the circumstances, he knew getting hard was inevitable, might as well make it as comfortable as possible.  
  
Sam's long legs curled toward Dean, knees opening to wrap around his brother's powerful right thigh. They connected and folded with such ease they instantly became one. It seemed as though being separated was an awkward state of being for them. Dean's hands were everywhere by then, unbuttoning Sammy's shirt then sliding under his t-shirt, stroking the hot belly skin and teasing the treasure trail of hairs below his navel. Sam purred and nursed on his brother's lip. Caleb bit his own bottom lip, unable to stop himself from remembering how scrumptious young Sammy's kiss tasted. Sweet as a peach and just as juicy.  
  
The next time he glanced over, his skin felt like it caught fire. Dean was nuzzling Sammy's hair above his right ear and his thumb was pressed deep into his little brother's mouth. Sammy's eyes were closed and he was sucking, sucking so greedily. His pink tongue slid out above his bottom lip stroking Dean's thumb slowly, really tasting it. Dean's eyes were closed, too, but his lips were parted and glistening, brushing against Sammy's earlobe over and over. They were already lost in each other even fully clothed.  
  
They'd shifted so they were pressed together, belly to belly, Sammy's long legs curled around Dean, knees and shins against the door. Caleb swallowed hard when Sammy's hips started moving, rubbing his cock against Dean's through their jeans. Dean's right hand slipped around Sam's broad back, cradling him as he feasted on Dean's thumb, so demanding and wanton. Those soft sucking sounds were crazy making. He could hear Dean's breath coming faster and more ragged and then he laid Sammy down on the bench seat. Dean shifted and curled into a near fetal position over his brother's prone body never letting his thumb come lose. Then he stretched forward, covering Sam, his lean hips tucked into the wide V of Sammy's legs.  
  
Dean's fingers dug into Sammy's hair, petting, petting, pulling and stroking as Sammy gnawed on his brother's thumb. They rubbed against each other faster and faster, both moaning by then, impatient and guttural. Caleb could feel their urgency in the seat under him, the vibration of their breath and voices and the rhythmic thump of their hips. Looking down, he saw that Sammy's head was almost touching his thigh, that irresistible chestnut hair tousled, warm, so horribly inviting. Just looking at it right there, so close and accessible, made Caleb's head pound with desire.  
  
Caleb clutched the steering wheel with both hands, willing himself to behave. He could handle this. He was a grown man, after all, an ex-Marine. He was certainly capable of controlling his own behavior. This was _not_ going to be a problem if he had anything to say about. It simply couldn't be. Taking a few deep breaths, he distracted himself by thinking about Johnny and how much his friend was counting on him. He stared straight ahead at the black asphalt spinning away under the Hummer's tires. If he could just keep it together until they got to the site, everything would be fine. Yep. It was all gonna be fine, god-dammit.  
  
And then Sammy came.  
  
His back arched almost bucking Dean right off into the dash but Dean wasn't so easily dispatched. He hung on, his strong young body curving and rolling with Sammy's as his little brother shivered and groaned through what was obviously a corker of an orgasm. Sammy's eyes were squeezed closed and his body jerked and flinched in throes of ecstasy. With each muscle spasm, his pretty little head got closer to Caleb's thigh until finally—plop—there it was.  
  
Caleb looked down and Sammy looked up, his dark green eyes glazed and dilated with waning lust.  
  
Cocking his head, Caleb sucked in air through clenched teeth. "Ooooh, Sammy, Sammy, Sammy . . . you gotta move, sweet thing." He glanced at Dean hoping for some assistance but John's oldest boy was otherwise engaged.  
  
Dean was on his knees on the floor under the dashboard, hands quick and deft making short work of removing Sammy's belt, unbuttoning his fly. Sam looked down at his brother just long enough to see Dean grin at him as he reached backward for the button that would lower the passenger side window. He fumbled for it a second, found it, pressed it and the window slid down all the way. Next he grabbed Sam's left ankle and stretched that long leg right out the open window.  
  
"I need to taste you, Sammy," Dean murmured, voice a feral husk. His gorgeous eyes were heavy-lidded and glassy, lips the color of ripe figs and plump with arousal.  
  
Caleb held his breath as Dean opened Sammy's jeans, tugged his damp boxers down to expose his still hard, glistening cock. He didn't want to breathe, didn't want his mouth and nose to be flooded with the scent of that boy's throbbing, relentless sensuality. He knew he'd lose it then. All bets would be off. Concentrating, he exhaled very slowly and tried to keep watching the road, tried to keep from looking at pretty young Dean as he lowered that magnificent mouth down into Sammy's open fly.  
  
Sam's head was heavy and hot against Caleb's right thigh, moving back and forth as he wriggled with pleasure. Dean lifted Sam's long left leg and pushed it up, out of his way, over the top of the dash until Sammy's toes tucked into the spot where the dash and the windshield glass met. When Dean's lips made contact with his too sensitive twitching cock, Sammy's knee banged into the rearview mirror, knocking it askew. Caleb was suddenly confronted with his own image in that narrow mirror and his reflection surprised him. Eyes wide, cheeks flushed, upper lip glimmering with sweat under his dark blond mustache. He looked more than alarmed, he looked scared. And that made Caleb Marshall laugh.  
  
He reached up and righted the mirror, looking backward in the reflection over Butch's furry head. The road behind them was dark and quiet, white line continuously renewing itself in their tail lights. They were nearing the foothills where Caleb had set up for the ritual and scrubby trees had begun to appear along the roadside. All the windows were down then and the night air whooshed through the truck's cab, swirling the musk of boy sex together with the keening, pure fragrance of sage and desert dirt.  
  
Caleb licked his lips and swallowed and Sammy was everywhere in his mouth, his nose, his lap. He looked down again and groaned softly when he found the boy's eyes closed and his dark pink lips parted, breathing, sighing, moaning. His long fingers were in Dean's hair, stroking his ears and neck, scritch-scratching his nails across his brother's whisker stubble. Dean sucked and licked, sighed and hummed, swallowed, sighed again. Caleb could only imagine how delicious Sammy's dick was. Especially then—all juiced up on don Pedro's uncompromising elixir.  
  
He swallowed again and tried to think of something—anything else—but that boy's head in his lap and that boy's gorgeous cock in his brother's gorgeous mouth. A pretty mouth like Dean's was built for sucking dick and thinking of how good he'd be at it made Caleb shiver all the way down to his pinkie toes.  
  
He looked at the road, looked in the rearview, looked down at Sammy, repeated the cycle. Caleb did this four or five times while he took deep breaths and exhaled slowly, willing that beast of arousal to settle down. He dropped his hand down onto Sammy's chest and waited for the boy to open his eyes. When Sammy looked at him, he was going to ask very nicely to have him remove his pretty little head. That would help matters tremendously. Sammy's eyes did slide open very slowly, but they fluttered only, then closed again.  
  
"Sammy," Caleb gasped, eyes flitting to Dean who paid him absolutely no mind. "Sammy, I need you to move, sugar. I'm bein' serious. If you don't give this old man a break, your daddy's gonna have good reason to skin me alive."  
  
Sammy's dark green eyes opened all the way then, fixing Caleb with the same piercing defiance he'd shown all those years ago on their camping trip in Yosemite. That expression said the same thing then that it did in the tent—Sam Winchester would not have his pleasures denied. Not by anyone.  
  
Caleb started to protest, but was instantly rendered unable to speak. Sammy took the hand Caleb had laid on his chest and lifted it to his face, pulling at the thumb until he got it inside his hot, wet mouth. Sammy's tongue stroked over Caleb's thumb in slow circles, the tip teasing every crease of skin, then cradling the pad and sucking it with such lewd intent, Caleb almost came in his shorts. He bit hard on his lips and tried not to feel the sudden, overwhelming rush of desire, but it was too late. A man could only take so much, after all.


	3. Chapter 3

Ritual Part Three  
  
Standing on the brake, Caleb slowed the truck down and pulled onto the gravelly shoulder. Throwing the engine into neutral, he looked down at Sammy again, that time curling his fingers tightly around the left side of the boy's jaw. "Sammy," he said in hoarse whisper. "Let go. You're makin' me nuts."  
  
Sam's eyes closed briefly and Caleb felt hot breath on his thumb, the skin wet from spit and sucking. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean's head come up and heard the faint pop as he released his brother's erection from his mouth. Caleb and Dean locked eyes for an instant. In the thin light from the console, he could see that Dean Winchester's normally sparkling green eyes were almost eclipsed with his black dilated pupils. And then Dean's luscious lips tilted in his signature playful grin.  
  
"But, Caleb . . . I thought we were supposed to go with the flow," he said in his scratchy baritone.  
  
"YOU two are," Caleb said, slightly annoyed by the impertinence but knowing it wasn't really Dean's fault. That was the potion talking. "I got other things to do tonight and the kid here is slowin' my roll. Now tell your brother to let go of me before I have to get unpleasant." He looked down at Sammy and tried to be authoritative, but he was unable to keep from grinning. The youngest Winchester's eyes twinkled with lust and mischief just like that morning in Yosemite. "Come on, you yummy little brat," he said. "Let go. Please."  
  
Dean took hold of Sam's hips and tugged him down a few inches across the bench seat until his head thunked on the smooth leather. He grunted at his brother, still holding Caleb's thumb in his mouth. The boys stared at each other for a moment before Dean spoke again, his brow creased with irritation.  
  
"How many times you gotta be asked?" he said, so softly it was almost a whisper. "Quit bein' retarded. Caleb wants you to let go."  
  
"Well," Caleb said, still smiling down at Sammy. "If I had my druthers, you could suck my thumb 'til you turned forty, baby boy. But as things are—I don't want your daddy pumpin' me full o' buckshot. Plus, I gotta concentrate. Remember?"  
  
For a few seconds, none of them moved. Caleb waited, watching Sammy's lovely face as it shifted and changed with his aphrodisiac muddled thoughts. Finally, he gave Caleb's thumb one last hard suck before releasing it.  
  
"Fine," Sammy whispered, but his pretty eyes still danced with playfulness.  
  
Caleb mouthed the words 'thank you' and then he looked at Dean again. "Do me a favor, Dean-o. Keep the dog in the truck for a minute."  
  
Dean looked confused but he nodded. Caleb popped open the driver's side door and turned in his seat, throwing his long legs out into the cool night air. His tan boot heels hit the running board and then he fumbled and quickly got his fly down. The brush of his fingers against his painfully hard cock made him tremble as he carefully hauled it out of his jeans. He was almost too aroused to enjoy stimulation but he concentrated, knowing he had to clear the pipes if he was going to stay focused. His shorts were damp with sweat and pre-come he gently smeared the slick fluid over the head and shaft of his cock. Just as he started a cautious stroke, he felt Butch's muzzle poking the back of his head.  
  
The dog huffed and snuffled, his paws skittering on top of the seat trying to jump over. Caleb felt weight shifting on the bench behind him and then he heard Dean's voice telling Butch to stay back, settle down, but the dog fought him. The truck was open and he wanted out. Caleb turned his head and grabbed Butch's muzzle with his free hand.  
  
"Hey," he said purposefully, right hand busy with its completely unrelated task. "You have orders, hound. Keep watch out the back. This ain't no pit stop."  
  
Butch snorted then tugged his big head free from Caleb's grasp. He wasn't happy about it, but he did as he was told and returned to his post.  
  
Resting his hand on the truck's roof, Caleb scooted forward just a bit until his ass cheeks balanced on the edge of the driver's seat. This gave him better leverage and increased the sensation just enough to bring him close to coming. This wasn't about pleasure, this was a utilitarian wank. He wanted to get this done as quickly as possible so they could get back on the road.  
  
From behind him, he heard Dean's deep throaty voice, whispering just loud enough to be heard. "Want help?"  
  
Surprised, Caleb turned around to make some retort about how Dean better make up his mind whether Sammy could play with him or not, but that wasn't quite what Dean had in mind. The young man with Johnny's eyes had straddled his brother on the bench, his right hand slowly stroking Sam's rigid, leaking cock. Sammy's hips were tense, lifted into Dean's touch and his eyes were closed again. So close, he was, right on the edge. Caleb could feel the tremble in his body as yet another orgasm stalked him.  
  
Caleb stroked himself, looked at Dean. Dean licked his lips, looked back.  
  
"Well?" Dean said.  
  
"What do you—?" He didn't have time to finish his question. Dean's hand that had been working his brother's cock was lifted suddenly right up to Caleb's face. Dean's fingers were slick and musky and he rubbed the length of his index finger over the dark blond whiskers of Caleb's moustache—right under his nose. Then he pressed those fingers against Caleb's lips.  
  
"Taste him," Dean purred, his eyes slanted and just a little challenging. "Promise I won't tell."  
  
Caleb grinned, squinted, accepted the challenge. Dean's fingers were on his tongue the next second and Sammy's savory sex-sweet flavor flooded his senses. Ripe summer melon, bread dough rising in a warm place, bitter cherry and a hint of celery. Caleb's belly growled, he groaned and drew Dean's hot fingers into his mouth, sucking, tasting everything he could. Dean let out a sigh so long it turned into a soft moan and then they were looking at each other again. Caleb swallowed, sucked and licked and Dean watched him. After a breathless moment, the young man smirked impishly.  
  
"See what you're missing being such a good soldier?"  
  
Caleb opened his mouth just enough to speak, still running his tongue around Dean's delicious fingers. "Kiddo, you have no idea."  
  
They both grinned and then Sammy shifted under his brother. Caleb watched him wriggle Dean's jeans down until his thick, heavy cock was exposed. God, he had a nice dick. From a purely male perspective that was entirely disgusting to Caleb, but in another way it made perfect, just and poetic sense.  
  
Dean Winchester was put on this earth to be three things: a fighter of the good fight, a broken boy desperately devoted to his family and an irresistible carnal confection that would enjoy as much pleasure as it could in its short lifetime. Dean was a bottle rocket arching into the sky with its ass on fire. He had many tasks and very little time. Being a flawless beauty was not only a valuable weapon, but also one of this soldier's small rewards.  
  
Sammy's thighs parted and he pushed his hips up until they puzzle-fit with Dean's. Caleb watched their cocks reach for each other, dripping and red as wine. The boys moaned when contact was made and then Sammy's long fingers curled around both erections, stroking them together, teasing them separately. He knew just how to touch his brother and Dean knew just how to be touched. His hips worked very slightly, just enough for some counter friction and then they were both panting.  
  
Caleb kept Dean's fingers in his mouth and Dean didn't seem to mind. At this point in the kid's life, he was bound to be associating most sexual pleasure with finger sucking. Dean balanced on his left hand and on his knees, letting Sammy do most of the work beneath him. Caleb watched Dean's face as all three of them rushed toward desperately needed release.  
  
Dean murmured Sam's name, Sammy lifted his brother's t-shirt and kissed his chest, licked his tender pink nipples, kissed his breast bone. Caleb watched them communicate without a word, lifting, carrying each other toward the edge and then tripping over, falling and almost yelling as they soaked each other with fresh seed. Caleb hardly noticed when he came, he was so consumed with watching Johnny's boys. Toward the end of his orgasm, he let go of Dean's fingers and looked down at his cock just in time to see the last strong blast of his own semen jet out into the desert.  
  
While still inside that brief act of communion, Caleb closed his eyes and said a silent prayer. _Spirits, cleanse me of this act. Purify my body to give Kharina safe passage. Protect the souls in my charge from the evil that seeks them and bring their family together again._  
  
He let out all the air in his lungs and inhaled slowly, waiting for the last tremor of his harsh orgasm to ring itself out. He knew he would feel clear headed and awake after a moment, he just had to keep breathing. There was more shifting on the bench behind him and he heard the boys kiss each other, murmur to each other. Then he felt one hand on each of his shoulders. When he turned, Sammy was on his right with his back leaned into the steering wheel and Dean was reclined against the seat—both of them were holding on to Caleb and looking back at him.  
  
"You okay, man?" Dean said.  
  
"Uh, yeah." Caleb took one more deep breath and blew it out, then he hitched up his jeans and wiped his hands on top of his thighs. Once again, he turned to Sammy and gave him a little smile. "Are you enjoying the brujo's little cocktail?"  
  
Green eyes glimmering with intoxication, Sammy grinned. "It's fun. Do you think we could get some to go?"  
  
Caleb laughed and so did they, that simple act breaking the tension of the moments just before. Without further discussion, they moved back to their respective seats. Caleb pulled the door closed and glanced in the rearview at his dog. Butch sat with his back to them, staring tense and unflinching out into the desert night.  
  
"Butchie?" Caleb said, not liking the way his neck hairs were prickling.  
  
Butch shuffled but did not turn around. The three of them turned in the front seat and looked out the rear window, but the road behind them appeared deserted. The Hummer's tail lights glowed red on the packed sand making the landscape look like photos Caleb had seen of the surface of Mars.  
  
"Wha’ ya got, boy?" he said, still scanning the road for whatever might have Butch's attention.  
  
The big dog huffed, almost barked, then he turned around and leaned forward to lick Caleb's face. The boys sighed with relief and settled back into their seats.  
  
Ruffling Butch's head, Caleb frowned at the dog. "What the hell was that? You tryin' to freak me out, buddy? That's not cool. And it worked." He took Butch's head in his hands and pressed his forehead to his dog's. "My heart's bangin' away now, ya mutt." He gave Butch one more pet, then turned back to the wheel. "All right, let's go do this."  
  
The boys nodded, shifting so they could press together again, Dean's arm around Sammy's shoulders, Sammy's forehead under Dean's chin. Caleb put the truck in gear and pulled back out onto the highway, keeping a close eye on the road in both directions. He had a tickle that wouldn't let go. Something else wasn't just watching them, it was _with_ them. If Sammy could feel it too he wasn’t letting on, but maybe that was just the potion dulling his sixth sense. Either way, Caleb was certain beyond doubt.  
  
They had company in addition to the guardian.  
  
  
***  
  
John pulled one of the shabby queen size beds in his motel room a few feet away from the wall, then walked in a wide circle slowly emptying the contents of a fresh jug of rock salt onto the carpet. He made two revolutions around the bed giving himself enough room to walk inside the salt circle. He expected he was going to be pacing most of the night but just in case he got tired, he wanted to be able to rest.  
  
Already waiting on the bed were his satellite phone, a rosary and crucifix, a plastic bottle of holy water, a crossbow, a machete and a .9 mm. The arsenal might have appeared like overkill to any other seasoned hunter, but John Winchester wasn't taking any chances that night. He had no idea what to expect from the guardian once Caleb began the ritual. It might not come near him or it might try to kill him in some attempt to force the boys to show themselves. He knew Caleb would veil them as quickly as possible, but there would be a short time when they'd be vulnerable.  
  
Sighing, John ran his fingers through his hair. He checked his watch then walked to the window of his room, peering out into the vast Mojave night. His boys were in a desert, too, so far away from him. He wished he could be there to protect them, even though he knew that would be more dangerous for them all. The distance was good because it made the guardian have to travel if it wanted all three of them. Unless, of course, it found a way to ride their thoughts at the worst possible second.  
  
He didn't want to think about that. Truth was, John didn't want to think about anything but all this drama being finished. He needed a rest, some down time with his kids. Maybe he could convince them to go fishing for a week. It had been years since they were all together in a non-threatening situation and John felt pretty confident he wasn’t the only one missing the good times. Few and far between, sure, but they'd been there over the years. Their strange childhood had both enhanced and hindered his sons, but they'd managed somehow to grow up well and strong. Most days John felt he'd had almost nothing to do with that. His extraordinary sons raised him, themselves and each other.  
  
Pressing his head against the cool window glass, John closed his eyes and sent out a silent plea for Caleb's success. He tried not to picture the boys' eyes so he wouldn't connect to them, but it was difficult. Every memory he had of them had something to do with their changeful, beautiful faces. He wanted to see them so badly, to hear them laugh and joke with each other. His heart literally ached with sad longing. He knew he should try not to be afraid he'd never see his children again. He knew he should try to have nothing but faith in Caleb's abilities. But John Winchester was a man of the underworld and he knew the truth about this life.  
  
There were no guarantees, not for the good guys or the bad. Everything had a purpose, a reason, a unique and precious balance. He and his boys had a grave destiny that would one day give way to an inevitable balance. Against the darkness behind his eyelids, John prayed to whatever gods might be listening that no such balance would be found that night.  
  
"Please don't take them from me," he whispered and his breath condensed against the window glass. In that brief puff of moisture he saw something behind him in the room—a shape in shimmering white. He spun around and was just in time to see her before she faded into the air.  
  
"Mary?" he gasped, his heart banging in his chest. "Mary . . . come back."  
  
The room was silent and still. But before she'd disappeared, he'd seen her very clearly. She'd been holding her finger up to her lips gesturing for him to be quiet. Throughout their entire relationship, she'd done this to soothe him when he was upset. She would whisper to him and softly stroke his forehead until the worry lines smoothed. _Hush now, baby. Everything's fine_.  
  
Then, just for a second, he swore he could feel Mary's delicate fingers on his face. The sensation was gone as soon as it had come, but it reverberated through John Winchester's soul like a lullaby.  
  
***  
  
Twenty minutes later, Caleb pulled up to the fire pit at his camp site from the night before. The boys had gone quiet, nuzzling and kissing in the passenger seat as don Pedro's potion enflamed them once again. He turned off the engine and stepped down from the cab, holding the door open for Butch to jump out. Before he closed the driver's side door, he stopped for a moment to just look at Sammy and Dean.  
  
Sam's legs were draped over Dean's lap, his head was on Dean's chest and he had Dean's thumb in his mouth. Dean's free hand stroked and caressed Sammy's hair and cheek and they were staring at each other as though the rest of the world had simply evaporated. They were probably talking in their heads, but maybe not. The look in their eyes was communication enough. For that moment, John's sons were completely in love. Even with its most disturbing overtones, it was still a beautiful sight.  
  
Caleb closed the door gently and he and Butch walked around to the tailgate. The night glowed pale blue under the full moon that was high in the northern sky by then. They both looked up at the white orb and Butch offered a muffled whine of reverence. Caleb glanced around the site for any movement before he opened the rear of the Hummer and started to gear up. First things first—they needed a big butt-kickin’ fire.  
  
He grabbed a bundle of dry pine logs, kindling twigs and newspaper that were thatched together with twine and hauled it all to the fire pit. Butch followed, taking his position on the opposite side of the pit while Caleb set up the kindling. Crumpled newspapers, sticks crossed in an X, a kiss of flame from his silver Zippo and they were in business. The fire caught quickly and he soon had four logs crackling away in a neat bonfire stack.  
  
Wiping his hands on his jeans, Caleb went back to the truck and leaned his head in the open passenger window. The boys were right where he'd left them, wrapped up and gazing at each other, Sammy's mouth holding tight to Dean's thumb. When neither of them so much as looked his way, Caleb cleared his throat. They blinked and turned to him, both a little dazed like they'd just woken up.  
  
"Oh, hey," Dean said. "We're there?"  
  
Caleb chuckled amused by their obliviousness. "Yep," he said. "We've _been_ here. Anyway, come on. We need to get you boys dressed. Or, rather, undressed." He opened the door and pushed it all the way out to give them room. "Dean-o, stay in the truck but face me." He guided Dean's knee with his hand indicating he wanted the kid to sit with his legs dangling. Sammy hovered close, eyes full of curiosity.  
  
Caleb looked at them both closely. "I did tell you this ceremony has to be performed skyclad, right?"  
  
"I think so," Dean said. "It's cool, anyway. Whatever."  
  
Smiling, Caleb nodded. "That's exactly how I want you to feel right now. 'It's cool, whatever.' That'll work well for our purposes." Taking care to move quickly, Caleb unbuttoned Dean's flannel and pushed it off his shoulders until it fell on the seat behind him. Sam reached for it to help but Caleb shook his head.  
  
"I know you don't need help gettin’ nekkid, boys, but this time I have to do it myself. I need to anoint you with a few things."  
  
Dean nodded, ever dutiful, and let Caleb slide his t-shirt over his head. Next his belt was undone, his jeans unbuttoned and tugged down over his ankles. Left in only his soft black boxer-briefs, he settled back against Sammy for support and just waited for what Caleb would do next.  
  
"Sammy, do me a favor," Caleb said. “Get that black box out of the back seat for me."  
  
Sam leaned over the front bench and collected the metal box there, handing it out the door to their father's friend. Caleb set the box on top of Dean's naked, golden-haired thighs, then bent down to work the oversized lock. The combination was six numbers Johnny knew by heart - 12, 9, 71, 11, 2, 83 - Mary's birthday and the day she died.  
  
Once the box was open, he lifted the lid and reached inside for two small glass vials. One contained blessing oil and the other contained blood. He opened both little bottles and poured a small amount of each liquid into his palm, smoothing the fluids together gently. Caleb closed his eyes and whispered two prayers he'd learned years ago and one he'd learned only that week. They were in three different languages and asked for protection of three different elements—the body, the soul and the heart.  
  
Caleb placed his wet hands on Dean Winchester's bare shoulders then proceeded to stroke the oil and blood mixture over the boy's chest and belly, on top of his thighs, over his knees and all the way down to his feet. Kneeling, Caleb slid his fingers between Dean's toes, then over the soles of his feet and back up his nicely defined calves. Something caught his eye above and he glanced up to see Sammy leaning out the door to watch what he was doing. He smiled and Sam smiled back.  
  
"This isn't so bad," Dean said. "You didn't tell me I was gonna get a massage."  
  
Caleb laughed softly as he stood up again. "Unfortunately, that's it, kid. I just had to coat your skin with the magic goop."  
  
"Which is?" Dean reached for the vial containing the blood and frowned at its color and consistency. "Wait," he said. "Don't tell me."  
  
"I wasn't gonna," Caleb said, giving Johnny's oldest a wink. Then he turned to Sam. "Okay, you're up. Scoot forward."  
  
The bench wasn't quite wide enough for both of them to sit side by side so Caleb patted the running board and Sammy wriggled his backside down onto it. He sat between Dean's knees and offered a sweet, playful smile to Caleb.  
  
"I get a massage, too?"  
  
Grinning, Caleb pulled his own flannel and t-shirt off over his head and tossed them into the back seat. "You're getting anointed, Sammy. That's all it is. Save all that high-powered flirt for Dean-o." He reached for the bottles and reapplied the same amount of oil and blood. While he rubbed his palms together and said the prayers, he noticed Sammy inspecting the large tattoo that decorated Caleb's lower belly.  
  
The design was one Caleb had done himself almost fifteen years ago. It was a lovely little brunette, naked with her shapely thighs open over the top of his navel. Her huge, perky tits jutted up as she arched her back and she was smiling a most wicked smile. Behind her was the face of the devil as large as her entire body, his long serpentine tongue extended under Caleb's navel and touched its tip to the girl's pretty little pink pussy.  
  
"Dude, that's dirty," Sammy murmured, his index finger tracing the length of the devil's tongue.  
  
Caleb touched the oil and blood mixture to the boy's nose with his fingertip, gently running it all the way from eyebrows to nostrils. "That depends on your perspective, Sammy-boy. To some, that's a religious image."  
  
Dean's fingers carded through his brother's hair at the back of his neck almost unconsciously and this made Sammy sigh. He tickled the devil's tongue again.  
  
"My perspective is that it's dirty," he said.  
  
Caleb chuckled. "Big surprise. Now hold still." His hands repeated the same motions as they'd done with Dean—shoulders, chest, belly, thighs, shins, feet, calves. Then he stood and stepped back a bit, motioning for the boys to get out of the truck. "Dean-o, hand me the bottles, please."  
  
He picked them up and held them out while Caleb wet his hands again, then he set them back down on the Hummer's floorboard.  
  
"Okay, turn around," Caleb said to Dean. "I'm gonna do your back, then you're gonna rub it on Sammy."  
  
Dean nodded, turned around and presented his broad, straight back. While Caleb gently spread the oil and blood on Dean's skin, he noticed the even distribution of pale freckles all over the kid's body. Dean had freckles on his neck and shoulders, arms, hands, legs—even in his ears. For some reason, Caleb had never really noticed how pervasive they were before and how vulnerable they made Dean look. How boyish.  
  
Dean saw him looking and arched his brows. "What?"  
  
"Freckles. Everywhere," he replied softly. Dean smiled bashfully and that unexpected expression compelled Caleb to press an affectionate kiss against his angelic blond hairline, just above his ear. "Okay, Sammy, come here. Touch your back to Dean's."  
  
They inched backward until their bodies aligned, then they turned their heads to grin at each other. Their height difference was especially evident in this position. Dean's chin grazed Sammy's shoulder and he grinned, rubbing his stubble on his brother's naked skin.  
  
Caleb put one hand on the front of each of their chests and said two more prayers—these in a sort of English and both designed for protection against evil. When he was done, he reached for both their hands and clutched them in his own.  
  
"Okay, boys," he said, holding their gaze. "We're gonna get started. Come with me to the circle by the fire and once you're inside, strip all the way down."  
  
They nodded, both looking extremely sober despite the intoxicating effects of the aphrodisiac. Caleb could tell they were both still in the grip of it because their pupils were huge and black, their skin hot to the touch and flushed. Young blood racing like mad. He gave them a reassuring smile, then tugged their hands gently so they would follow him to the fire pit.  
  
The night before, he'd spent hours searching the surrounding woods for white rocks of descending sizes and then arranging them in a circle on the East side of the fire. The circle was wide enough for Sammy to lie down in it and not disturb the edges and that's exactly what Caleb told him to do when he they got there.  
He had Dean stand to Sammy's left and Sammy stretched out on his back on the ground. The rocks brushed the top of his chestnut locks and just reached the tips of his long toes.  
  
"Perfect," Caleb said. "Now sit up and get your shorts off. You, too, Dean-o."  
  
The boys shimmied out of their last bits of clothing and put them Caleb's open hand. He winked at them as he folded the warm, slightly damp garments and set them on the edge of the fire pit.  
  
"Those're damn tempting," he teased. "Might not get 'em back."  
  
He'd wanted to make them smile and it worked, but only for a second. They were getting nervous and no amount of herbal potion was going quell that completely. He figured he'd best get on with the festivities.  
  
"All right, sit down now. Facing each other, right in the center of the circle." While they did this, he reached into his back pocket for the rawhide pouch that contained all of his tools for the ritual. The seven brass keys came out first.  
  
He arranged them just like he'd learned, in the shape of a cross beneath the smallest stone in the circle. This would be the only place where the circle could be opened, but the gap was very narrow. Next came the black stones. He took out a knotted strip of leather with a black bead tied in the center of it and placed it at the bottom of the cross of keys.  
  
"That's Dad's," Sammy said softly.  
  
Caleb nodded. "Yup. I need yours now. Both of you."  
  
The boys frowned doubtfully at their own leather bracelets—the ones John had given each of them after their first successful kill. Dean's bracelet had two stones because his first kill had been a pair of malevolent ghosts terrorizing a grade school in Buffalo. Two dead hell beasties, two stones. Sammy's first kill had been a werewolf and it hadn't gone very well.  
  
Caleb leaned forward and reached down to his right tan boot. From a sheath stitched into the side seam, he drew out his bowie knife. The custom blade glinted in the roaring fire light.  
  
"Oh, no," Dean said, shaking his head. "You can't cut these, dude. Dad tied them on us himself and they've never been off. Ever."  
  
Sammy's eyes were wide as he looked down at his father's bracelet there on the ground. "Dean tied that one on him."  
  
Caleb spoke calmly, patiently. "And tomorrow, when you're all together, you'll tie them back on each other again. Now come here." He reached for Dean's right hand and gently, so gently slit the thin leather bands. The bracelet dropped in Caleb's waiting hand and was then placed beside John's. He did the same with Sammy's bracelet and then he sheathed his knife.  
  
"I thought there were only supposed to be three black stones," Dean said.  
  
Caleb frowned at the bracelets. "You're right, Dean-o. There are." He stood up and bent over the fire pit, gathering a small handful of white ash. He took Dean's bracelet and smeared some of the ash over one of the black stones there until its onyx glint was covered in white dust. "Okay," he said, hoping that would work. "Right, listen. I could probably do this ritual by myself, but since I'm not completely sure—I'm enlisting some help from a friend. A guide."  
  
The boys listened, nodded.  
  
"When the guide enters me, it'll look a little . . . ya know, weird. Just don't worry. I'm still here, I'm just sharin' the space for a bit."  
  
"Like possession?" Sammy asked.  
  
"No, not at all. This is an invitation only party. My guide is doing me a favor. Okay?" He looked from one to the other of them, measuring the apprehension in their eyes. "Also, Butch is gonna go apeshit when the guardian comes here. You saw him earlier."  
  
"Yeah," Dean said. "He won't run it off before you’re done, though, right?"  
  
"Well, he has his orders. But, he will flip his furry wig. Don't worry about him, either. Just keep concentrating, do as I say and everything will be over soon."  
  
Again, they nodded, and Sammy bit his lip.  
  
Caleb took a deep breath then went on. "I need to tie you together at first—so close that there's no space between you." He reached into the pouch and drew out the length of black leather cord. Also from the pouch he took John's and Mary's wedding rings, carefully feeding them onto the cord. "Okay, cuddle up, boys. No space between. Kissing and stuff is good, too. The guardian wants that juice so crank it up."  
  
Sam and Dean had been sitting Indian style facing each other and then they moved closer. Without discussing it, Sammy wrapped his long legs around Dean's hips and Dean pulled his brother to him until their bodies were flush—chests, bellies, cocks, hips. They grinned at each other and then kissed softly.  
  
Caleb wrapped the leather cord around their taut waists and drew it tight forcing them to press even closer together. The leather bit their flesh a little, but it had to. It would give from their body heat and he needed it to stay tight. Carefully, he tied the cord in a square knot around the two rings. They tinkled together like tiny bells.  
  
"Okay," he said, and they looked at him again. "When the guardian comes, it's going to try to get between you. Stay together no matter what. Don’t let it in until I'm ready. At that time, when my guide tells me, I'm going to cut this cord. Then I want you to separate just enough to let it get between you."  
  
"It can get inside the circle?" Dean asked.  
  
"No," Caleb said. "But I will have opened the circle at that time so it can go in."  
  
The boys stiffened and Sammy gulped.  
  
"You're gonna _invite_ it to touch us?" he said, his eyes wide and childlike. The expression broke Caleb's heart.  
  
"Baby-boy, only for a second. Only a second. It has to go solid to feed and when it does, I'm gonna slit it with my big knife and it'll bleed—or leak or something. Whatever it leaves is what I need to make the veil. I'm assuming that once I wound it, it's gonna run off for a bit. If it doesn't run off on its own, Butch is gonna chase it until it runs. So, be ready for that possibility, too. I'll need about two minutes to create the veil. Cool?"  
  
"Cool," they said together and that time it was Dean who gulped. His cheeks were smudged with the oil and blood mixture making him look like a combat soldier in camouflage. Dean tried to smile and Caleb tried, too, but neither were terribly successful.  
  
"All right," Caleb said. "You two try to relax if you can. Just . . . ya know, snuggle, make out. Do your thing. I'm gonna call my guide."  
  
The boys pressed together, arms wrapping around and holding on. Caleb rested his weight on his shins with his palms open on the dry, grainy ground. He inhaled the hot-smelling wood smoke, the sweet, crisp desert air and the delicious musk of the boys' sex-warmed skin. All these flavors joined in his mouth and filled his lungs. Using the techniques he'd been taught years before, he cleared his mind and opened his soul.  
  
And then he called Kharina.  
  
***  
  
Sam swallowed and pressed his cheek into Dean's. They were both watching Caleb with rapt attention, neither of them sure what to expect.  
  
The aphrodisiac he'd given them was so powerful that it overrode even the deepest fear. Sam knew they were in danger—big time danger—but all he could really focus on was his brother's body, so hot and silky, strong and fragrant, right there . . . so sweet and _right there_. He sighed, loving the soft scratch of the golden hairs on Dean's belly against his own skin. He could feel Dean's heartbeat thumping solidly against his chest and suddenly, Sam was overwhelmed with emotion.  
  
Inside his head, he spoke to his brother. _If things go bad here, I'd be okay dyin' like this_.  
  
Dean turned to him, his brow creasing hard. "No one's dying, Sammy," he whispered out loud. "Shh. Hush, now." He pressed his beautiful lips into Sam's then cupped Sam's head and pulled it close against his neck. Once again, they watched Caleb as he remained on his knees, head down and hands on the ground, meditating, preparing.  
  
The fire crackled and whipped in the night breeze and sent embers into the darkness like Fourth of July sparklers. Sam watched the fire then watched Caleb, all the while making sure he kept as close to Dean as possible. And then the air around them grew heavy with humidity as though they'd suddenly been transported to the edge of the ocean.  
  
He and Dean sat up straight, looking around them as the trees that flanked the clearing shimmied and swayed in an unfelt wind. They moved of their own accord but in an obvious pattern coming toward them, branches compressing and lifting as though someone was walking along them. Sam noticed that the pines were more affected by this motion than the leaner aspens and sage. Whatever was coming preferred the sturdier trees as transport.  
  
Butch skittered in the dirt beside the fire pit, whining repeatedly and pacing. He shook his head and barked with his mouth closed, and he watched the trees. His keen eyes seemed to know what was coming and whatever it was frightened him.  
  
Caleb let out a long, low groan that seemed to empty his lungs completely. The boys looked from him to the waving trees, pulling each other close as the movement drew nearer and nearer. The pines behind the fire pit swayed then stilled, and then a rush of moist air blew through the hottest part of the blaze, toward them, beyond them, bee-lining for Caleb. The air smelled faintly of pineapple, seaweed and brimstone.  
  
Caleb's dirty blond hair ruffled when the breeze reached him. The wind swirled around him, seeming to push and pull him insistently until he sat upright. He leaned back on his shins, arms at his sides and that warm, moist wind circled him like a tornado. He tilted his head back and opened his mouth, his strong neck straining, shoulders trembling slightly. The devil face on his belly seemed to laugh and the devil's naughty girlfriend grinned and grinned.  
  
Butch crept toward his companion, whining and whining and then he stopped a few feet from where Caleb sat. His expression was one of pure consternation and then he lowered only the front of his large body, paws outstretched, ears flat, butt in the air, tail tucked. He watched Caleb warily and waited for whomever was coming.  
  
The small twister surrounding him had gathered some stray leaves and bits of loose earth from the campsite around them and it was these things the boys saw wind themselves into a spinning tube that arched and curled until it found the opening of Caleb's mouth—and then it started in. He flinched, his big hands fisted, slapping against his thighs, but otherwise he was still. The entry took only a few seconds and then the air around them returned to that of the cool dry desert night.  
  
Sam and Dean looked at each other, green eyes wide and wary. Caleb sat motionless save for his breathing, head still thrown back, fists still pressed into his thighs. Then very slowly, he tipped forward onto his open hands and crawled the few inches to the edge of the stone circle. His eyes were down as though watching where he was going, so it wasn't until he looked up that the boys saw the change in his face.  
  
The effect was similar to double exposure on a photograph. Sam blinked trying to make sense of what he saw, trying to focus and see clearly. Caleb was still there but in front of him, hovering like an apparition, was the head and torso of a woman. Her image was very faint but she appeared to have skin the color of cocoa and close cropped white blonde hair. Her eyes were crystal blue, like Butch's eyes, and her mouth was lovely, full and kissable. It was impossible to tell her age in this vaporous form, but Sam could see she was an extraordinary beauty.  
  
"It's a girl," Dean murmured.  
  
Sam only nodded, kept watching the woman's image. She was watching them, as well, looking from one to the other, taking them in. Caleb's hands surrounded by a soft yellowish halo came up with the palms open, suspended before them and asking to be touched. Sam reached up first, placing his left hand on Caleb's right. Dean frowned but followed suit, softly touching his right hand to Caleb's left.  
  
They sat that way for a breathless moment, the vapory woman looking at them and smiling very slightly with her full, pretty lips. Sam caught the scent of something burning, of pineapple and of seaweed again and then the woman spoke.  
  
"John," she said, but that was all she said. She took Caleb's hands back, folding them in his lap with the fingers linked. Turning her face up to the starry sky, she lifted Caleb's chest and then called out in a high pitched, singsong of a cry. It wasn't a word, exactly, but more of an outburst. A pressure release. And then she looked at them again.  
  
"Touch," she said and it was clear it was an instruction. "Taste and touch. Make the bait." She picked up Caleb's hands again and pressed them together, demonstrating what she wanted of them.  
  
The boys bumped noses as they turned to each other, catching the other's lips in a soft, open-mouthed kiss. The sensation lit Sam up inside like he'd swallowed a mouthful of too-hot soup. Dean's kiss burned through him, shimmered and glowed until it touched him all the way down in the center of his belly.  
  
The woman spirit guide inside Caleb lifted her hands to the sky and, in a strange mixture of her voice and his, said "let the wicked come."  
  
Sam heard her and wanted to look but he couldn't. His lips were on fire and his mouth and nose were full of the deliciousness of Dean. His brother's heat, touch and taste were all he wanted. The scratch of Dean's whiskers, the satin of his lips, the bitter sugar of his saliva. Sam's cock swelled against Dean's, kicking in its eagerness to connect, to please. Dean's fingers splayed on his back, squeezing him against his chest and then their tongues were tangling inside a wet kiss. Sam felt like he could come from that kiss. In fact, he felt certain he would.  
  
All it took to send him over the edge was Dean's ragged sigh and the pressure and heat of his thick cock shuddering against Sam's. They didn't separate because they were severely instructed not to do so, but that was fine. There was plenty of friction between them if they moved just right. They were good at that after so many years of practice.  
  
Sam moaned as another orgasm welled inside him, racing inside his thighs and tingling in his toes. He shook with the force of it and then Dean jolted in his arms. Hot milky fluid squirted into the tight press of their bellies and Sam was right behind him, panting to breathe in the delicious scent of their mingled come.  
  
It was only then that he heard the hissing.  
  
Body still shuddering with intense pleasure, he looked at Caleb and his guide and saw them looking up above the boys in the circle. Sam looked up, too, and instantly wished he hadn't.  
  
The guardian had spread itself out like a sheet of motor oil smoke, reaching the full length of the circle of stones. Its eyes seemed to drill into Sam's, immobilizing him and making him feel cold all over. Dean looked up then, his body also still ringing with pleasure spasms. His eyes widened and he clutched Sam to his chest, holding so tight it was hard to breathe. He muttered something threatening deep in his throat and Sam closed his eyes, burying his face in Dean's hot, sweaty neck. Although Sam Winchester was no coward, this reaction seemed to be what Dean wanted him to do.  
  
Sam's eyes were closed as he listened to Caleb and his guide begin chanting, clicking bones against the black stones and keys, speaking a language that was likely a combination of many influences with no real root. He recognized some of the words but mostly it was a blur, sounds piled on top of each other for a tonal effect rather than a formal litany. Dean's heart pounded so fast it shook Sam gently with every hard beat. He was scared and angry and defiant—all things Dean, all things Winchester.  
  
The chanting grew louder and more shrill and Sam opened his eyes in time to see Caleb stand, arms raised, and move back half a step. Glancing down he saw that one of the smallest stones had been moved aside and there was now an opening in the circle. He swallowed and clutched Dean, turning his face into his brother's chest. Dean clung to him, powerful fingers digging into the flesh of Sam's back.  
  
When the guardian entered the circle, it felt like they'd been dropped into the center of an electrical storm. Sam frowned, trembling, not wanting to know where this beast had gathered enough energy to radiate like that. On every one of their previous encounters, the guardian hardly had any mass. Now it was palpable and hot, its presence tense, tickling, unmistakable. Sam breathed Dean's name and Dean tried to pet him, but his hands were shaking.  
  
And then the guardian spoke in Sam's ear.  
  
"Chiiilldd . . ." it hissed.  
  
Sam turned to it, glared into its steely eyes. "Fuck you," he spat.  
  
That scratch of mouth appeared in the black roiling mist and it pulled into a grimace. "Fuuckk . . . yesss . . . fornicators . . . sssodomites . . ."  
  
Dean growled like a feral dog and the sound was bone chilling. Sam had never heard his brother do that before and wondered if he ever actually had. This creature had brought out the darkest, most primal corners of Dean's innate protectiveness. Sam could feel it in the way Dean held him. His entire body quivered with bloodlust and he would die happily in an instant if it meant saving Sam.  
  
The guardian slithered in the air and swirled around them in two circles, coming to a stop opposite Caleb and his guide. The three of them looked at each other over the boys’ heads, frozen and ready like gunfighters in the old west. The guardian writhed, swiveled and then it started toward the boys.  
  
Even with their bodies smashed together, the filmy, wispy entity slipped between them like smoke. Sam groaned and shivered from the slimy, icy feeling of its form and as soon as he made that sound, the guardian’s unreal eyes were right before him, obscuring Dean’s face entirely. It said nothing, just stared. Sam gulped, shivering. That damned thing felt like it was looking right into him.  
  
The guardian’s attention was drawn down to their bellies, right to the place where they’d just wet each other with fresh seed. It tilted and flattened, thinned out and squeezed until it got in there, right down there . . . and then something started to burn.  
  
“Oh my god—“ Sam said and Dean’s fingers clung to his arms.  
  
The leather cord around their waists suddenly snapped free and Sam looked at Caleb with wide eyes. He couldn’t be serious about letting this thing have at them. Caleb and his guide were both showing clearly then, two faces in the same body, the same space. And they were both wielding that big bowie knife.  
  
“Caleb,” Dean protested but Caleb shook his head. And then they heard his voice over that of his guide.  
  
“Do what I told you, boys,” he rasped. “Separate so it can feed.”  
  
Trembling so hard his teeth banged together in his mouth, Sam looked at his brother though the filmy black tail of the guardian. Dean licked his lips, stoic and brave, and he nodded once for them to do it. Slowly, haltingly, the boys moved apart just a few inches.  
  
The guardian whine-moaned and reared back a little, then Sam felt the sharp stab of what must have been a hot poker or branding iron. Right in the center of his belly, at the place where his ribs opened over his guts, the guardian drove something into him . . . and then it started to draw something out.  
  
Dean’s face crumpled in pain and Sam knew he was feeling the same thing. Then just as their eyes began to water from the strain, Sam’s vision whited out for a second from the flash of Caleb’s custom knife blade. It sliced the air between them in that tiny opening of space, barely grazing both their noses. In the wake of the cut, a hot gush of sticky, stinging gelatin splattered Sam’s thighs and chest. And then came the shrieking.  
  
First it was the guardian as it thumped and bumped and wobbled against their bellies, dismembered and disconcerted—trying to escape that tight space between them it had so desperately coveted an instant before. As soon as it moved, Butch leapt up on all fours and started his own version of blood freezing shrieking. The two of them traded howls and screams until the guardian managed to wiggle itself out of its captive space. It flew into the night sky and Butch gave instant chase, their collective yelpings mixing in a cacophony of hellish echoes.  
  
Sam looked over just in time to see Caleb drop to his knees and bow his back. His guide lifted out of him in one whole vaporous piece. It reminded Sam of the old Warner Brothers cartoons when the character would die and his milky mirror image would joke about his demise as it drifted up to heaven. It looked like a full fledged woman, beautiful and lean, strong. She moved quickly up into the trees and then there was another hot, moist breeze and then stillness.  
  
Caleb was having an alarming amount of trouble breathing and Sam was concerned. He reached for their father’s friend to ask if he was all right, but Caleb shook his head.  
  
“Stay in the circle, Sammy,” he said, his voice sounding like it had gone through a deep fryer. “Almost . . . done.”  
  
He laid the knife on the ground next to the three bracelets and then he scooped the bits of leather together. The black stones ticked against the metal blade and were slimed with the gooey residue the guardian left behind. Next to the ring of stones were the tiny animals bones Caleb and his guide had been using for their chanting. He took two of those bones and used one of the stones in the circle to crush them into dust on the ground. He piled the dust into his right hand then grabbed up the bracelets, making a tight fist around the lot. Rocking back on his shins again, Caleb picked up the soiled bowie knife and pressed it into his closed fist.


	4. Chapter 4

Ritual Part Four  
  
Sam and Dean flinched, leaned forward, both made some sort of protest or plea, but it was too late. Caleb’s blood ran through his fisted fingers, dripping down onto the desert at the base of the stone circle. He caught his breath and began murmuring an incantation, and that time—Sam recognized the words.  
  
Caleb spoke perfect Latin as he recited a spell that must have pre-dated Jesus. Sam made out as many words as he could . . . body, blood, window, obscure . . . hide and protect, safe, father, son, mother. From the blood that had dripped onto the sand, there came a thin white vapor that trilled into the air like smoke from a cigarette left in an ashtray. It curled and twined and Sam and Dean followed it up and up with their eyes until it was just over their heads. As soon as it was directly above them, that tiny riff of smoke burst into a million beads of gold light.  
  
The tiny lights rained down over the boys but they had no mass. They glowed like fireworks but had no heat. When they landed on the boys’ skin, they left no sensation or mark. It was almost as if they weren’t there at all. But they most certainly were. Sam had the tiny flash burns on his retina to prove it. He felt like he’d just witnessed a solar eclipse with no protective eyewear. As he and Dean blinked trying to clear their vision, he heard Butch whining and howling as he approached at a fast clip through the clearing.  
  
The guardian was ahead of him, racing into the night until it reached the fire pit and the circle of stones. Caleb flopped back on his ass, legs out in front of him, and shook his head to clear it. He coughed a few times, then looked up at the guardian as it swirled around and around the circle above Sam and Dean.  
  
Butch skittered to Caleb’s side, licking his face like crazy. The dog was out of breath and frantic, not sure if he should tend to his human companion or continue to wage verbal war with the hell beast. His growls and whimpers expressed his desperate confusion and the sound of it hurt Sam’s heart.  
  
“Shh,” Caleb said to his dog, trying to reach up and pet him but his right hand was full of blood, black beads, leather and ash. “It’s almost over, buddy. Shh. Sit over there.” He pointed with his closed fist at the far side of the circle of stones. “Keep an eye on the boys.”  
  
Butch snorted then went to his post.  
  
The guardian whirled above the stone circle around and around, but it never stopped. After what seemed like ages, it finally swooped down on Caleb, spreading out its rejuvenated coal smoke mass and glowering with its steely eyes.  
  
“Priest,” it spat in a voice strong and whole that had no need of hissing to conserve energy. “Where?!”  
  
Caleb, still out of breath, chuckled wetly. “What do you mean, bitch?”  
  
The guardian pushed forward, right into his face, and the boys recoiled just from watching. Sam’s and Dean’s bellies were slick with that creature’s innards so they were experts on how disgusting it was up close.  
  
“Where did you send them?” the guardian demanded in a voice like fingernails scraping a chalkboard.  
  
Caleb shook his head and Sam saw the sweat beading his entire body. Their father’s best friend was nearly exhausted but he still found strength to spar with his opponent. “Maybe you just lost them.”  
  
The guardian stretched out its black smoke mass into the elongated, exaggerated shape of the knife in Caleb’s hand. Its eyes came to pinpoints at the tip of its simulated blade. “Lost? Not so. You sent them . . .” It shifted from its knife shape to the shape of a wooden arrow and then back to its preferred form of a black smoky mass. “Winchester,” it said. And then it rocketed into the night.  
  
Caleb slumped down on the ground and then he was calling Sam’s name. Sam scrambled out of the circle without even thinking and went to Caleb’s side.  
  
“Are you all right?” he said, leaning over and touching Caleb’s forehead. He was so feverishly hot it almost hurt to touch him.  
  
In hitching breaths Caleb said, “go get my satellite phone out of the truck. It’s in my duffle. And there’s a bottle of water there, too. Bring me that. Go, Sammy. Now.”  
  
Sam all but sprinted to the Hummer, not caring one bit that he was barefoot and naked. The adrenalin kept him from feeling the sharp rocks on his feet or the cool air on his wet, slimy skin. He sat on the tailgate and reached in for Caleb’s khaki green duffle, hauling it forward into his lap. He dug through some clothes and his fingers hit the bottle of water. He set that aside, then kept digging for the phone but to no avail. Then it started ringing.  
  
Under a pile of neatly folded underwear and clean but worn out jeans, Sam found the satellite phone. The display was flashing its digital caller ID and the name there made Sam want to weep with relief. “JOHNBOY2”.  
  
Sam grabbed the ringing phone and the water and ran back to where Caleb lay sprawled. Dean was at his side by then, out of the circle and kneeling in the hard desert dirt. Even in the midst of all that madness, Sam felt the influence of the potion Caleb had given them. He couldn’t help but appreciate Dean’s strong, fit body—naked and glistening with golden hairs—as he bent to assist Caleb. As Sam approached, Caleb heard the phone ringing and he waved his hands frantically.  
  
“Answer, Sammy! It’s your dad!”  
  
Sam dropped to his own naked knees, handed the water bottle to Dean and then pressed the ‘talk’ button on the phone pad. He brought it to his ear and listened before he spoke. Sam was panting. “Dad?”  
  
“Sammy?” John Winchester said. His voice was thin and unusually frail but only for an instant. When he spoke again, he was 100% boo-yah. “Are you all right?”  
  
“Yes, sir. Are you okay?”  
  
“I . . . don’t know, yet. Dean?”  
  
“He’s fine, he’s right here.”  
  
“Where’s Caleb?” John barely got the words out before Caleb hoisted himself up and snatched the phone away from Sam.  
  
“Johnny,” he gasped, his breathing still so frighteningly labored. It sounded like he was trying to inhale the oxygen out of mud. “Johnny . . . it’s coming.”  
  
Sam looked at his brother and Dean swallowed hard.  
  
“Did you . . .” Caleb began and then had to breathe. “Did you see the gold lights?”  
  
Over the crackling fire and the soft desert breeze, the boys could hear their father’s voice. Yes, he’d seen the gold lights.  
  
“Then . . . Johnny . . .” Caleb huffed and tried to clear his throat. “Open the door, man.”  
  
The boys stiffened nervously, not liking that plan at all. Sam looked at Caleb and shook his head hard. Caleb shook his own in return.  
  
“It’s the only way we’ll know,” he said to all three of them. “And, John . . . the blade is the best weapon.”  
  
Sam and Dean looked at each other and without a word, knew what they had to do. They took a shaky breath, linked their hands and thought of nothing but their father surrounded by protective white light.  
  
***  
  
Leaving the line open, John Winchester tossed the phone on the bed and stared at the door of his motel room. The air felt anxious and preparatory like right before and earthquake. He was still inside the circle of salt he’d put down on the floor, but he knew it would have little effect on the guardian now that it had fed on the powerful energy of his children. The thing was most likely a supernatural terminator by then.  
  
He heard it when it got near and felt its electrical charge on his skin. As the guardian approached his room, the lights flickered and the curtains ruffled and then there was a harsh banging on the flimsy particle board door. John swallowed, watching the cheap metal door knob twist and turn. It was only a matter of time until it got in. No sense waitin’ around. John grabbed the machete off the bed then took the few steps across the room to the door.  
  
He flung it open then stood aside, pressing his back to the wall. He held his breath and clutched the handle of the machete as the huge plume of black smoke gusted into the room. John watched it whoosh from one corner to another, criss-cross in the small space, then slink along all four walls like some kind of filmy rodent. It went into the bathroom for a second and then came back out, whirling in a circle just below the overhead lamp.  
  
John knew he was standing in plain sight but the creature could not see him. It didn’t register his energy or his presence. It seemed to be second guessing itself as it hesitated near the ceiling, then it circled the room one more time. John waited, watched it and nearly swallowed his heart when the guardian passed less than an inch from him on its way back out the door. Finally letting the air out of his lungs he kicked the door closed, taking great pleasure in the solid slam it made. That slam was the sound of the guardian’s farewell.  
  
He went back to the bed and grabbed the phone, raising it up to his ear. But before he could speak, he heard Dean speaking inside his head.  
  
 _Dad?_  
  
 _Right here, son. Let me hear your voices._ And then into the phone, he said, “Dean? Sammy?”  
  
“We’re here,” they said together. John could picture them with their cheeks pressed together over the phone, both straining to hear him. “Did it see you?” Dean asked.  
  
“No. It took a good hard look, too. Just blew right by me.”  
  
“Thank god,” Sam said.  
  
“Yeah,” John said. “Sammy, let me talk to Caleb—if he can.”  
  
The next voice on the line was that of his lifelong friend. Caleb sounded awful and John knew what he still had coming that night, but his voice was still one of the sweetest sounds he’d ever heard.  
  
“Hey, buddy,” Caleb croaked. “Tell me you were the invisible man.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” John said, biting his bottom lip to steady his sudden emotions. “You gonna make it?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah. Just gotta . . . you know.”  
  
“Yeah. You let my boys take care of you, all right? No stiff upper lip shit.”  
  
Caleb breathed a ragged laugh. “Okeydoke. You comin’ tomorrow?”  
  
“Yes. I’ll see you as soon as I can. Get some rest.”  
  
“You, too. Safe journey, Johnny. See ya.”  
  
Before his friend could pass the phone back to his sons, John needed to say one more thing. “Caleb?”  
  
“Mm.”  
  
John swallowed, took a breath. “Thank you.”  
  
Another breathy laugh. “Don’t mention it, my brother. See you soon.”  
  
Dean’s voice was on the line next.  
  
“Dad? Are you coming here?”  
  
“I’ll be there tomorrow. Listen, take care of Caleb. He’s going to be sick for a few hours—really sick. Keep him hydrated and make sure he rests. He’ll probably try to tell you he’s fine, but don’t believe it. Keep him on his back for the whole night. Make sure he sleeps.”  
  
“Yes, sir. We’ll take good care of him.”  
  
“Thank you. Dean, did it . . . bite you?”  
  
There was a long pause and then his oldest son cleared his throat. “Only for a second. We’re fine. Really. Did it bite you?”  
  
“Didn’t have a chance,” John said, his heart sinking. Not knowing what the guardian would take from his sons made the knowledge that it _did_ take something all the worse. “Do you feel all right?” he asked. “I mean, can you tell . . . what it fed on?”  
  
“No,” Dean said. “I feel fine. I mean, I’m shaky and tired, but I fell okay. Sammy’s okay. The wounds are . . . small. Don’t worry about it, Dad. We’ve lived through much worse.”  
  
John squeezed his eyes closed and rubbed his forehead. “Yeah. Okay. Get Caleb and yourselves back to your room. I’ll see you tomorrow.”  
  
“Okay, Dad,” Dean said. “Be careful.” And then the line went dead.  
  
John dropped the phone on the bed then plopped himself down beside it. Arms out, feet dangling, he finally let himself relax—but only for a little while. Recuperating was necessary, that was sure, but John Winchester still had miles to go before he slept.  
  
  
***  
  
Caleb leaned against Dean for support as he ravenously gulped down half the water in the bottle. He watched Sammy go back to the truck to retrieve the boys’ clothes and he secretly mourned the loss of their beautiful nudity. They were like sculptures of Roman gods, these two. Such a shame to cover all that up, especially with those slouchy clothes Sammy preferred.  
  
Dean-o held onto him, resting his cheek on Caleb’s forehead with the same unabashed affection he’d has as a child. “You gonna be okay?” he whispered.  
  
“Yeah,” Caleb told him, forcing an easy-going smile. “There’s gonna be some residue from Kharina’s visit, though. She had to use sulfur powder in her spell in order to get to me. So, I’m gonna have to puke that up.” He winked at John’s beautiful son. “Don’t worry, I won’t get any on you.”  
  
Dean snorted. “That would be the least objectionable thing I had on my body tonight.”  
  
Caleb nodded, taking another look at the round wound in Dean’s belly. It was the size of a quarter and perfectly circular but it was a dismaying brownish-purple color. It wasn’t bleeding exactly, but it oozed some sort of murky fluid. Caleb didn’t like the look of it one bit. It reminded him of napalm burns.  
  
All at once, he felt the first wave of nausea and he asked Dean to help him up to his knees. The boy did so with a gentle strength that Caleb could feel all through him. It made him feel safe and loved at the same time, as though he were a child falling asleep in his mother’s arms. In another life, Dean Winchester would have been an excellent father.  
  
Caleb leaned forward in the dirt trying to breathe, knowing his throat was going to be scraped raw by what was about to come up from his guts. He steadied himself, prepared—and then he felt Dean’s fingers gathering his hair back away from his face. He glanced up at the boy and said, “son, you don’t need to watch me do this.”  
  
Dean quirked a grin. “I have orders to take care of you, sir. Holding your hair back while you puke is the least I can do.”  
  
Caleb smiled, appreciating the levity, but then the first convulsion hit him and for the next hour or so, there was nothing but retching.  
  
***  
  
Three hours later, Caleb woke up to the cool press of a wet wash cloth on his forehead. He didn’t have to open his eyes to know he was back in the boys’ motel room. The sweet scent of their coupling still lingered in the close air.  
  
“Hey,” Sammy said softly and Caleb opened his eyes. Johnny’s youngest was all cleaned up and in a fresh t-shirt and sweats, his hair wet and brushed back from his face. His smile was like the first kiss of dawn on a spring morning.  
  
“Hey,” Caleb said then cleared his raw, burning throat. “What time is it?”  
  
“Almost 2:30,” Sam said as he reached for a bottle of water on the night table. “Can you sit up?”  
  
Caleb breathed deeply, shifted then scooted himself up until he was resting against the cheap motel headboard. Sammy handed him the water bottle. He brought it to his lips and took a tentative sip, waiting to see if the fluid would stay down. Everything seemed to have stabilized in his guts so he drank some more, casting a sweeping glance around the room.  
  
“No sign of our buddy since we left the campsite?”  
  
Sam shook his head once. “It’s gone. At least for now.” He looked down at the wash cloth folded in his hands and his smooth brow wrinkled. “I want you to know how much we appreciate what you did, Caleb,” he said and then he looked up again. “Thank you.”  
  
Before he got caught up in all that raw emotion, Caleb chuckled, patting Sammy’s knee affectionately. “You Winchesters are so sentimental. It’s not big deal, really. It was kinda fun.”  
  
Sam’s smile said he understood why Caleb was making light of the situation. He was a smart cookie, that Sammy. They looked at each other for a long moment, neither of them speaking, but everything that needed saying was conveyed nonetheless.  
  
The bathroom door opened and Dean appeared, flushed from a shower and also dressed in a clean t-shirt and sweats. Apparently, the boys thought they had to be dressed if they were going to sleep in the same room with Caleb. Seemed moot after what they’d been through that night, but what did he know? When Dean saw that he was awake, he gave Caleb a big grin.  
  
“Hey, welcome back. How you feelin’?”  
  
“I’m gettin’ there.” He set the water bottle on the night table then wiggled his finger at Dean. “Come here, you. Let me see that hole in your belly.”  
  
Dean walked over to the bed and lifted his shirt to expose a square of sterile gauze held over the wound with surgical tape. Caleb lifted one corner of the tape gently, just enough so he could see underneath. To his dismay, the wound looked much the same as the moment it had been inflicted. Frowning, he looked up at Dean who was frowning, too.  
  
“I don’t like these,” Caleb said.  
  
“Yeah. Me, neither. They don’t act like normal wounds. I cleaned them with iodine and put antibac on them but they just keep . . . dripping like this.”  
  
Caleb gestured for Sammy to lift his shirt so he could examine his injury, as well. Same exact wound, same exact place, same exact condition. Caleb sighed.  
  
“We should get you boys to a doctor tomorrow when your daddy comes. Just to be safe.”  
  
They boys nodded and then Sammy yawned, stretching his arms over his head.  
  
“I’m beat,” he said. “Do you need anything before I turn in?”  
  
Caleb patted his knee again. “Nah, I’m good—wait, where’s my dog?”  
  
Dean pointed to the motel room door where Caleb could just make out Butch’s fluffy white tail laying still on the carpet there.  
  
“He’s been there snoozin’ away for the last few hours,” Sammy said. “Guess he’s tuckered out, too.”  
  
Caleb breathed a laugh. “Yeah, well—he got in his share of partying tonight. He needs a rest.” He reached up and turned off the lamp on the night table as Sam and Dean climbed into the other bed. He wondered if it felt strange to them to be sleeping in clothes—especially with each other.  
  
“You know, you don’t need to do pajamas on my account,” he said in the freshly dark room. “I’ve seen you both naked already.”  
  
The boys laughed but had no further reply.  
  
After a few minutes of shuffling and getting comfortable, the three of them fell silent. Fatigue was a harsh task master and they were all sleeping within minutes.  
  
***  
  
In the breathless stillness just before dawn, the dark motel room suddenly took on the faint scent of roses. No one noticed when she came in or when she approached the bed where her sons slept. Mary’s mission was simple and precise.  
  
She found her boys on their backs, sides pressed together. It took no effort to find the wounds that were such a mystery for them, but so logical for her. Perhaps only she would ever know what the guardian took from her children that night, because she was the only one who could replace it.  
  
Hands like stardust hovered over the boys’ bellies and just for a moment they radiated cool light. That was all it would take, nothing more. Just a simple exchange of white for black.  
  
For her last few seconds of energy, Mary stood watching her boys sleep. There was no knowing what she was thinking or even IF she was thinking, but her expression was completely serene. The one witness to that moment would never forget the look on her face.  
  
“Hey, lady,” Caleb whispered into the darkness.  
  
Mary turned to him slowly and then she smiled just like she always did when she first saw him. It was the same smile that glowed out of Sammy.  
  
“I thought that was you earlier,” he said.  
  
Mary only nodded and then in another breath, she was gone.  
  
***  
  
In the pale gray of the new morning, Caleb felt Butch jump on the bed with him. The dog didn’t lie down right away, he sat at Caleb’s side a bit stiffly. Opening his eyes to see what was bugging his companion, Caleb was surprised to find John Winchester standing at the foot of the bed.  
  
They gave each other huge grins.  
  
“Sly dog,” Caleb whispered. “I didn’t even hear you.”  
  
John walked around to the side of the bed and sat down. He looked tired and road-weary, but well. He bent over Caleb and ran his fingers through his friend’s long blond hair at the top of his head, then he put a kiss right between his eyebrows. His whiskers tickled Caleb’s nose delightfully and he noted that Johnny smelled faintly of cinnamon.  
  
“You okay?” John whispered, his fingers still in Caleb’s hair, soothing and petting in a way only fathers know.  
  
“I’m good, Johnny. Your boys are fine. Oh, and Kharina says hi, by the way.”  
  
“I bet,” John chuckled then he sat up and looked across at the opposite bed. For a moment, he just watched Sam and Dean sleeping, most likely hearing their strong, steady respiration as sweet music.  
  
“They were asleep, but . . . Mary came to see them,” Caleb whispered.  
  
John didn’t even turn to him, he only smiled very sadly. “Yeah. She stopped in on me, too.” Then he gave his friend a wink before he stood up.  
  
John took off his khaki jacket and tossed it on the chair by the dresser, then he sat down to take off his boots. Caleb watched him disrobe down to his t-shirt and shorts and then John went to his sons’ bed. Dean was on his back with Sammy’s head on his chest, arm draped over Dean’s side. John lifted the covers gently and eased down beside them.  
  
Caleb waited for the boys to register their father’s presence and wake up but they didn’t. Instead, Dean sighed in his sleep and shifted toward John’s warmth, resting his head on his father’s outstretched arm. John settled, wound his other arm across Dean’s belly, around Sammy’s waist, and then he let out a long, deep sigh.  
  
***  
  
Sam woke up from the click of the bathroom light.  
  
He blinked and rubbed his blurry eyes, glancing vaguely around the room. God, he’d really been out. Must have needed the sleep pretty badly. Sitting up, he squinted at the bathroom to his left where the door was open and the light was still on. After a moment, Caleb came out of the room and flicked the light off again. He spotted Sam and grinned.  
  
“Mornin’,” he said. “Sleep good?”  
  
“Yeah,” Sam said, rubbing his eyes again. “How are you doing?” It was then that he looked to his right and saw his father lying there. He took in a quick breath and said “dad” but John was sleeping soundly on his back. Dean’s head was on his chest, arm around John’s ribs, sleeping so deeply he was actually drooling on John’s thin white t-shirt.  
  
Caleb sat on the other bed, still grinning. “He turned up right after dawn. Must have drove all night.”  
  
Sam blinked again but that time because he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. In the entire lifetime he’d known his brother, Sam had never seen Dean drool in his sleep. The visual image made him laugh a little and that made Caleb ask him what was funny.  
  
“Dean,” he said, keeping his voice quiet. “He never drools. It’s just . . . I don’t know. Kinda weird.”  
  
“Most mammals drool in their sleep when they’re really relaxed,” Caleb said. “You’ve probably never seen Dean do it before because he’s always half awake when you’re together. One eye on your surroundings, one eye on you.”  
  
Sam frowned slightly, both loving and hating that explanation.  
  
Caleb went on. “For the first time in a long time he doesn’t have to keep watch. Papa bear’s here to do that.”  
  
He looked at his father and brother again, smiling at the soft, familiar vibration of John Winchester’s snoring. “Dad looks pretty much out, too.”  
  
“Yeah, well, that’s cuz I’m here.” Caleb chuckled and then pointed at each of them with his finger. “Papa bear, Little bear, Baby bear.” He pointed to himself. “Big Bad bear. It’s the bear chain of command.”  
  
Sam laughed genuinely and the movement of it made John stir and start to wake. He groaned and scrubbed his hand over his face, then that hand went to Dean’s head, gently stroking his short dark-blond hair. Sam waited for his father to open his eyes and his heart started pounding. Too many emotions were welling up inside him all at once for any one to come to the forefront. He was elated and wary, sad and hopeful and a little bit jealous. That last feeling tugged harder and harder until it started to make itself heard loud and clear.  
  
John opened his eyes and looked around the dimly lit room. He smiled at Caleb, then glanced down at Dean sleeping on his chest. Then he looked up at Sam sitting beside him on the bed. His pretty green eyes sparkled as he smiled.  
  
“Hey, Sam.”  
  
“Hey, Dad.” Sam swallowed and his throat clicked, suddenly feeling more than a little nervous.  
  
John seemed to sense this and he held out the arm that wasn’t wrapped around Dean. “Plenty o’ room on this side,” he said simply.  
  
Sam stretched forward using his hands and knees to crawl over Dean and his dad. It was a tight fit on the outside of the mattress but he managed it. His head fit against John’s shoulder almost exactly as it had when he was a boy. Except now it was easier to nuzzle his father’s whiskers. Lifting his chin, Sam brushed his nose into the thickest part of John’s beard, right along the jaw, moving back and forth, back and forth until his father breathed a soft laugh. They looked at each other and John was smiling.  
  
“That still tickles, Sammy.”  
  
“Good,” Sam said and then he nuzzled again.  
  
Behind him he heard Caleb stand up and go for his bag by the door. After a moment, he approached their bed again, placing the small rawhide pouch on John’s chest. Caleb was smirking playfully.  
  
“Y’all are makin’ my teeth hurt with all this sugar. Here’s your jewelry back.”  
  
John laughed and picked up the pouch, carefully opening it with his fingers. There were no more bones inside, no more brass keys or vials of blood, no danger and no more spells. The only thing left was his wedding ring and Mary’s and the three black stone bracelets.  
  
John slid his ring on first then picked up Mary’s. He looked at it for a long time, turning the gold band in the filtered, dusty sunlight. Sam watched his father’s face trying to guess what he was thinking, and then he remembered he didn’t have to guess.  
  
Inside his head, he said _she’s always with us, you know_.  
  
John looked at him and offered a wan smile, a little nod. Then he took Mary’s ring and slid it gently onto Sam’s pinkie where it fit perfectly.  
  
Next he picked up the bracelet with the two black stones on it and slipped it carefully around Dean’s wrist. Sam watched as his father tied the black leather into a neat square knot, never disturbing his eldest son’s slumber. He picked up one of the two remaining bracelets and wrapped one around Sam’s wrist.  
  
“Are you sure that one’s mine?” Sam whispered.  
  
John winked at him. “Doesn’t matter anymore,” he said and then he tied the bracelet on.  
  
Picking up the last of the leather strips, Sam shifted so he could use both hands to tie the bracelet on John’s right wrist. Once they were all in place, Sam settled against his father again, breathing in the warm, safe scent of his skin. His hand rested on John’s chest right beside Dean’s and John’s hands rested gently on both his son’s heads.  
  
Nothing was said, out loud or otherwise. Sam felt more at ease than he had in years and he also felt desperately tired. Not in a sleepy way, but in a bone-weary way. In a way old men who had lived long, full lives felt tired. He wondered if his father felt the same way—if Dean did. He supposed it didn’t really matter in the end. The Winchesters weren’t like other people. They would never know the fatigue in the bones of old men.  
  
All they had was each moment as it came and in that moment, Sam Winchester and his father were both very happy to watch Dean sleep so deeply.  
  
  
The end.


End file.
